


The Bleeding Walls

by Scribe32oz



Series: Hunters & Slayers [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 83,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Sunnydale's demise, Buffy Summers has retired to the town of Lawrence, Kansas, trying to lead a normal life. However a chance encounter with the Winchesters reveal that the world Buffy thought she knew had been irrevocably altered by Glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated NC-17 for one explicit scene at Chapter 13.

 

_“Go then, there are other worlds than these.”  
\- Stephen King, The Gunslinger _

 

The world had changed but no one had noticed. 

A slayer had died, the demon Glory had been destroyed for all time, cursed by the weakness of her human shell to die a mortal death. The destruction that would have been caused by her plan to bring her hell dimension to the plane she had been imprisoned had failed but the balance of the world had been affected. For a short time, all the dimensions had shared the same space and the convergence of time, space, mystical energy had caused subtle shifts in the order of things. 

No one had noticed, not at first. 

The changes were subtle and went about completely unnoticed for the first few years. The Watcher Council reported a new kind of vampire, one that couldn’t be killed by a stake. They had to be decapitated and could only be killed by silver. They seemed to react badly to the blood of the dead. The Turok-Han had proved that vampires could evolve and while this was disturbing, it wasn’t entirely unheard of. The new vampires were not prolific and they seemed to be isolated in small groups. They didn’t hunt the way the line of Aurelius had done and thus their numbers were kept low. 

Then three years ago, the world had been gripped by a supernatural maelstrom of biblical proportions, seas had turned to blood, tornados, hurricanes and floods had ripped across the planet. Whole towns were wiped out and ominous portents began appear with revelations that something terrible had entered the world. Demons who were considered allies were suddenly opening portals back to their home dimensions, fleeing this nameless terror. The Watcher Council was at a loss to explain what it could be. Suddenly their texts and resources appeared to have gaping holes as supernatural beings appeared that had never been encountered before. 

Then all of a sudden it stopped. 

In a place called Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence, Kansas, a climax had been reached. The slayers had converged on the place, trying to find the source of the great evil but by the time they’d arrived, it was all over. The destruction and chaos came to an end. Peace was restored and the world exhaled with a sigh of relief as things returned to some semblance of former order. The Watcher Council chalked it up to their home dimension regaining balance following the disruption caused by Glory in her attempt to bring forth a hell dimension. 

Whatever it was that had almost turned the world inside out, was gone and everything was back to normal. 

So it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

You get a sense of how a day’s going to turn out by the first ten minutes after walking up. 

When she opened her eyes, conscious of the fact that she’d been awakened by the tweeting of birds and the honk of a car horn somewhere down the street instead of her alarm clock, she knew it wasn’t going to be a good one. The display was flashing 0.00 am which meant a power failure had reset the thing and she was late to work. Refusing to compound a bad event with another, she refused to surrender her morning shower and stepped into the cubicle. 

Only to slip on a splatter of shampoo on the tile and crash into the glass wall. Her elbow went through the cubicle and it shattered, leaving a cut along her skin and glass everywhere. That had taken ten minutes to clean up and a further ten to dress the wound she knew would be healed by the day’s end. She got dressed in a dark pencil skirt and a silk shirt that splayed open at the collar and grabbed her handbag, headed towards her little red Yaris, hoping that being 30 minutes was all the late she was going to be. 

Then the car wouldn’t start. 

While collecting groceries from the back seat the evening before, she hadn’t quite shut the car door properly and so the interior light in the vehicle had been left on all night and her battery was properly drained this morning. There was a moment when Buffy Summers wondered if some demon had hexed her before realising no demon could ever this diabolical. Forced to enlist the assistance of her elderly next door neighbour, Mr Croft, a skeevy guy who always seemed to be peering through her window whenever she looked out of it. Desperate to get moving, she’d asked for his help to jump start her car, convinced he was going to ask for a lap dance in payment. 

Buffy drove to work at Lawrence High School in Lawrence, Kansas. 

Three years ago, she had come here leading a band of slayers to find some big bad the Watcher Council had never identified from presumably ripping the world apart. Whomever the mystery enemy was, he was powerful on a scale that had every soothsayer they knew running for cover and every medium refusing to tap into the spirit world for fear of burning their eyes out. Whatever this thing was, it had affected the planet in a way that neither the First nor the Glory had been able to do. 

By the time she and Faith had arrived, it was all over. Whatever the trouble was, it had burned itself out at a place called Stull Cemetery. The entity for all effective purposes was gone and none of their resources had been able to track it down again. The global catastrophes had stilled and Buffy chalked it down to the Powers that Be, getting off their collective asses and taking responsibility for their own screw ups for a change. 

She had planned to leave Lawrence but after a few days in town, enjoying the local food, the small town atmosphere, Buffy found she rather liked the place. It had no Hellmouth to speak of and Faith was more than happy to take the lead on the new slayers. 

_“You’re crazy B,” Faith had said in her usual flippant matter, “this place is like the middle of nowhere. You’ll go stark in a week!”_

Except she hadn’t. 

Dawn was now graduating law school. Her little sister was fielding job offers in New York at a prestigious law firm. Little Dawnie, a lawyer. Buffy was inordinately proud of that. Xander had gotten married a couple of years ago and now lived in London with his wife, Catherine who had been a librarian in the Watcher Council at the time of their meeting. These days, Xander helped Giles train potential slayers while Catherine had given birth to their first child, a girl. 

They named her Joyce. Buffy wept when Xander told her. 

Meanwhile, Willow had set down roots in New England, training new witches. She and Kennedy were still together. The last time she had spoken to Willow on the phone, Willow had mentioned that she and Kennedy were thinking about adopting a child. Occasionally, Faith would stop by, they’d go drinking and Faith would make a half-hearted attempt to get Buffy back in the game. Being put in charge of baby slayers had changed Faith, made her less of a maverick, more of a teacher in ways Buffy had never imagined she could be. 

Giles had understood why Buffy had stepped away. While she didn’t use the cookie dough analogy, she did feel her life had been stunted somehow by being the Chosen One. She’d been the Slayer since she was fifteen years old and being the Chosen had laid waste to almost every other aspect of her life; college, family, relationships. None of it had been able to withstand her duties and Buffy who was on the cusp of turning thirty at the time decided, if she didn’t start her life soon. She never would. 

She’d made an effort to finish college some years back and had a degree that cemented her desire to become a Guidance Counsellor. She’d enjoy her brief tenure as Sunnydale’s counsellor and always thought she would like to go back to it if the opportunity came. Three years ago when she had chosen Lawrence, she’d finally dusted off her degree and put it to good use. Robin Wood had been kind enough to give her a recommendation, as did the big wigs at the Watcher Council, though they didn’t represent themselves that way. The Council had enough academics of note in their ranks to be able to bluff a good reference for Buffy. 

Her father Hank had surfaced long enough to help her, using money to make amends for nearly a decade of absence. Buffy had taken his help and bought a nice little house in good neighbourhood in Lawrence, with her own back yard and a white picket fence. She’d always wanted one of those. It was the epitome of normalcy and if necessary, could be used as stakes if the need arose. Once a slayer, always a slayer. 

Still Buffy relished the chance to be on her own. Years ago, Giles had told her she needed to take charge of her life. She’d gotten an apartment, a car and had was settling into the routine of a young, single woman on her own for the first time without worries about her duties as a slayer. It was nice and Buffy was rather surprised, she didn’t miss slaying at all. Okay, sometimes she got a bit dull and ran up the bills for overseas phone calls to Giles and Xander but for most part, she was rather content.

******

Buffy arrived at school only to discover that she’d been late for the staff meeting held that morning. In a move that could only have been punitive for her tardiness, Principle Blake had chosen to bestow the singular honour of running the school bake sale. Despite having no interest in baking and not at all wanting to give up a Saturday in the company of soccer moms, Buffy had choice but to accept. Her attempt to get out of it had resulted in the son of a bitch giving her a smarmy smile and saying, “Well next time you’ll know not to be late, Miss Summers.” 

_Asshole._

The day hadn’t improved when she got to her office.  
Her first appointment of the day was Milton Wasserman who told her for the umpteenth time why gym class was ruining his life because without a passing grade in Phys. Ed, he’d never get into Harvard. She consoled him the best way she could, promising to talk to Coach Bannerman about make up (could you do make ups for Phys. Ed even?) and there were other colleges almost as good as Harvard. 

Following that, Sarah Cambridge came to see her. As she sat across the desk from the girl with her perfectly styled hair, make up, expensive clothes, manicured nails and equally perfect teeth, she was visited by images of Cordelia Chase. In comparison, Sarah Cambridge made Cordelia appear positively charming. 

What followed was an hour bitch session about how she’d received detention for calling Betty Foreman a fat pig. Everyone knew Betty was a porker and she was just pointing out the obvious. Sarah had continued to reveal that pointing out the obvious meant daily taunts to the girl’s face, scrawled across her locker, Twitter and Facebook. Just in case anyone missed it. 

Buffy was eternally grateful that she had escaped high school by the time social network had gone mainstream. She couldn’t imagine going through what kids endured today. In any case, she’d done her best to explain to Sarah that bullying was not something that looked good on a college application. Besides Buffy thought secretly, it was the bullied that often resorted to spells and raising ghouls to get some payback. None of this registered with Sarah and Buffy was promptly accused of being insensitive before leaving in a huff. 

The irony was not lost on Buffy. 

By the time lunch time rolled along, Buffy was suddenly longing for the days when the worst thing she had to deal with was the Mayor turning into a giant snake and terrorising the student body. Deciding she needed a timeout off premises, she drove to Veteran’s Park and the diner called the Slice that sat across from it. Aside from having the best pies in town, to which she had little interest, it was a cosy little place that served great food where she’d could sit quietly against the glass windows and watch the world go by.

“Hi Buffy,” Mary, the regular waitress on shift at this time of the day, greeted her when she walked into the place. They’d gotten to talking over the last year and Buffy now knew that Mary was a single mom, with a thirteen year old, whose husband had left her for a younger woman, 

“Hi Mary,” Buffy said smiling brightly at her when she stepped through the glass doors of the front entrance to the diner. “Can I grab my usual table?” 

“Sure,” Mary replied, waiving her through to the table in question which Buffy was relieved to see was unoccupied. The lunch crowd had yet to flood into the place and there were only a handful of other diners in the red, vinyl booths. Buffy liked the Slice for that very reason, not merely because if she got in early enough she could miss the crowd but also because it had an old world quality to the place. Not one of those trendy places that added the word ‘fusion’ to everything in the menu. It was a sign of age she supposed that Buffy preferred to stay away from those. 

Its décor was very much in the vein of the traditional American diner. With Formica flooring, wood panelling and vinyl booths, Buffy loved the Slice’s retro look, though she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was intentionally retro as much as it was just _old._ Her high heels clack across the linoleum as she passed by the counter and studied the pies on display, from the savoury to the desert and her stomach perked up at the sight of apple. 

Buffy slid into the booth and gazed out the window at the people in the park. Mothers were pushing babies in prams, old men were nestled comfortably on park benches, feeding ducks breadcrumbs at the pond nearby. There were a few teenagers sprawled on the lawn, seniors she guessed, enjoying their lunches while dogs were playing Frisbee with their owners. The scenery allowed Buffy to relax, and with a deep exhale, she expelled all the things that had gone wrong today and also staunched the desire to kill something. 

“I’m telling you Sammy,” the voice of a man invaded her thoughts from the booth behind her. “This town gives me the creeps.” 

“This is our home town Dean,” a second male voice returned with a hint of exasperation. “You can’t get jittery _every_ time we come back here. Besides, we’ve got a job to do.” 

“Alright, alright,” the first guy conceded defeat. “Give me the lowdown. What are we dealing with here?” 

Buffy chided herself for eavesdropping, resolving to go back to watching the park and the people outside. She checked her phone and started to scroll through the messages to see if there was anything from Willow or Xander. Xander had taken to sending her pictures of Joy on a daily basis and despite herself, Buffy delighted in receiving them. 

_“….where was the guy killed again?”_

Buffy’s spine straightened immediately. 

“At the back of an alley.” The conversation continued. “He’s throat was ripped out but judging from the crime scene pictures I managed to get a hold of, it’s pretty messy for a vamp. Could be a rugaru also. It isn’t a full moon so it can’t be a werewolf.” 

In the same breath, the guy had identified at least two monsters and a… _what the hell was a rugaru?_ Furthermore, he spoke about the creatures as if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he was trying to identify a strain of bacteria or something. Buffy was burning to find out who these guys were.

“A rugaru would eat the whole thing Sammy,” the response came promptly. “It wouldn’t stop at the throat.” 

“Not unless he’s just getting started Dean,” ‘Sammy’ countered. “If this is its first kill, there’s bound to be some hesitation. The next one if there is another one, will be a lot messier.” 

“Okay,” the one named Dean agreed with a sigh and eased back into the booth. Buffy could hear the vinyl squeaking behind him. “So we back track the victim’s movements to see where this thing could come into contact with him and hopefully we can gank the son of a bitch before its takes another poor bastard.” 

_Gank?_ Buffy asked herself. What the hell was _gank?_ Buffy resisted the urge to turn around to look at the two men. Who were they that they were chasing monsters? And what the hell was a rugaru? She’d never heard the creature before and she was pretty convinced she’d heard them all. Wanting a good look at them without giving herself away, Buffy rose to her feet with the intention of heading towards the ladies room since it would take her right past their table. 

Brushing down her skirt, Buffy caught her first glimpse of the two men. While she only caught the back of the head of one, she was able to see the other clearly. She estimated that he was a little younger than her and he was very good looking, not mention seriously tall. She had no doubt that if he stood up, he’d be at least a foot taller than her. Even with that unruly floppy dark hair and sideburns that needed shearing badly, he was good looking with a near irresistible cleft in his chin. Faith would _love_ him, Buffy thought to herself. 

He was dressed in a checked shirt and jeans and workmen’s boots. Definitely not Watcher Council, she decided and then wondered if they were from the Initiative. No, there was something in their speech that did not seem to fit the military either. They spoke the way she and Faith sometimes discussed slaying, like they were used to the fight but not bound by any particular discipline. Whomever this guys were, they were something new. 

When they made eye contact, Buffy curled her lips into a small smile of acknowledgement before she kept going. She entered the ladies room and freshened up, fixing her makeup and lipstick before stepping out again so she could get a look at the second guy at the table. 

Their eyes made contact the instant she stepped out. His gaze was fixed on the door, almost as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge. He had dirty blond hair that was cut short, full lips and hazel eyes. Squared jaw, chiselled features, he had ‘bad boy’ written over every inch of him, even down to the weathered jacket he was wearing over his broad shoulders. Buffy swallowed thickly as their eyes met, attempting to feign nonchalance when all she could think was, he was predatory and sexy as hell. 

It had been awhile since she’d been so affected by any guy at first sight. 

After Angel and Spike had died in Los Angeles, Buffy had sort of shut down where men were concerned. She dated every now and then and each encounter told her that dating didn’t work for her. How was she going to tell a normal guy how she used to spend her nights? Faith had told her she shouldn’t look for relationships when it was far more interesting to sample a variety of men without getting too attached to them. 

_Bang ‘em if you dig ‘em B and then Adios Muchacho._

Buffy continued the walk back to her table, holding his gaze and waiting to see if he would pull away. He didn’t and the continuing eye contact brought a cocky smirk to his face, like he was challenging her to break away first. Never one to flinch when it mattered, she had no idea what she would say to him if he decided to speak to her. Her last date had been a year ago and she knew she was out of practise with the art of flirtation. She used to be so good at it too. 

“Hey darlin’,” he greeted her when she as close enough. His voice was deep and husky with a drawl to it that was so masculine, it made her want to listen to him all day. _Jesus Christ B_ , she imagined she heard Faith’s voice in her head, _try and hold yourself together. You’re the slayer for fuck sake._ “You know a good hotel around here?” 

“What?” Buffy looked at him, her cheeks beginning to bloom with indignation. Did he just try to pick her up with such a crass pick up line? “Excuse me?” She stuttered. 

His eyes were dancing with mischief as he regarded her. Obviously the innuendo in his question had achieved the desire results and she could swear he was trying not to smirk at her. 

“I _said_ do you know of a good motel around here,” he repeated himself, “Me and my brother just hit town and need a place to crash. I figured you being a local might know?” The corner of his lip curled with amusement, like he knew exactly what she was thinking and was crowing because he’d led her right there. 

Buffy stared at him with narrowed eyes, infuriated that she’d walked right into that. It annoyed her to no end that he could disrupt her radar so easily and he didn’t he know it. Spike used to do that all the time and it often led to her pummelling him into submission followed by really great sex. Even as the thought crossed her mind, Buffy groaned inwardly at her own weakness. 

“Sorry, can’t help you,” she replied, trying to regain her composure. “You’re better off asking Mary over there for recommendations. I’ve only been here for three years and I haven’t had much time to check out motel rooms.” 

Oh God, did she really say that? Buffy winced inwardly. 

“Now that’s a shame,” he grinned at her. 

Buffy blushed involuntarily, once again reading him loud and clear. He was so forward and brash that it made her want to slug him. Reigning her annoyance in, she reminded herself that she had wanted to know who the two were and catching this guy’s forward pass might be the way to do that. Besides, if there was a monster in town, she had an obligation to find it and put it down. Even if she was a semi-retired slayer. Letting these guys go off on their own would just get them hurt.

“I’m Buffy,” she flashed him a smile. 

An odd thing happened then. The cocky grin he was wearing changed somewhat and his eyes softened. For a minute she thought he recognised her or something but the look faded almost as suddenly it appeared. 

“Buffy?” He said with genuine surprise. “Really?” 

It wasn’t the first time she caught that reaction to her name. Truth be told, it was nowhere as bad as what she’d caught from some of the kids who’d come into her office for the first time. 

“ _Yes_ Buffy,” she reiterated. “Do you have a name or don’t you ever get that far with the girls who pick up that line?” 

He laughed. “Hey no offense intended,” he answered quickly, not wanting to spoil the nice flirt they had going on. “I’m Dean and this is Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam answered with a slight wave though his expression clearly revealing he wasn’t enjoying his brother’s attempt at a pick up. 

“So now that you’re on to me, how about a drink tonight?” He asked her. 

Buffy thought she heard a sound of disapproval coming from his brother Sam but Dean silenced him with a look. 

“Sure,” she answered giving him the same flirty smile as before and once again, she thought she saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. What the hell was that about? “Where?” 

“The Dynamite Saloon on Massachusetts Street,” Dean said without skipping a beat. “You know it?”

“Yeah I know it,” Buffy nodded. “About seven?” 

“I can do seven.” He winked at her. “Don’t stand me up Darlin’.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she smiled and left him to pay her cheque. 

*****

Sam Winchester waited until the cute blond had paid her cheque and left the diner before he turned to his brother. “Dean, we’re on a job.” He reminded his older brother. 

“I know that,” Dean retorted, still watching the girl sashaying away from the diner. Her skin tight skirt emphasized her glorious ass as she moved gracefully across the parking lot to her car. The sunlight caught her hair in the just the right way and made each strand gleam like fine threads of gold. As it was, he was humming each time she had flashed him that smile. It had hit him between the eyes like a bullet to the brain, making his breath catch and his throat go dry. 

Pity about the name. 

“Look we’ve got no leads on Kevin, Cas is in the wind and you’ll need some R and R after we look at the scene and talk to the family. Trust me, you’re not looking so hot.” 

“I’m fine,” Sam shrugged, ignoring Dean’s observation. “And don’t change the subject.” 

“I’m not changing the subject,” Dean retorted defensively “Look I buy her a couple of drinks, do the wild thing, work the job and head off in a couple of days. What’s the harm, huh? Besides, she’s so frigging hot.” 

But it was more than that and Dean knew it. He’d seen her walk past them at the table and had admired her shapely ass and gorgeous legs as she went to the bathroom. He admired her the way he’d admire any attractive woman walking by. However, when she’d come back out, Dean had simply melted. Maybe it was the pouty lips or that little thing with her nose but more than likely it was that smile, that lightning jolt to the heart, smile. 

Sam stared at Dean’s pleading expression and found himself relenting. There was no changing Dean’s mind anyway. Besides, Sam had to admit Dean hadn’t been this interested in a girl for quite some time. After spending a whole year in Purgatory, Sam supposed his brother had earned a little recreation with the opposite sex.

“With that name, she was probably a cheerleader too,” Sam added.

“God, I hope so,” Dean sighed, his mouth suddenly gone dry at the prospect. The girl just got hotter. _Sis Boom Bah baby._


	3. Chapter 3

The victim’s name was Warren Benson. 

He was a Professor at the University of Kansas. He was single, in his forties and had moved to Lawrence from Oregon two years ago to accept the position on campus. Unlike most unmarried college professor in his early forties, he did not date pretty young co-eds as frequently as the semesters changed. Warren had moved to Lawrence with his fiancée Diane, who was paediatrician’s nurse by trade. Diane’s family lived in Lawrence and the move had been precipitated by his desire to keep his future wife’s family close by since he himself was an orphan. 

On the day of his death, he and Diane had been shopping for home wares for their new apartment. They’d made the run of the specialty stores in downtown Lawrence, including pausing a few local galleries and an antique store. Eventually, they ended their day at Buffalo Bob’s Smoke House on Massachusetts’s Drive. In the middle of the entrée, Warren had left the table to use the rest room in the rear of the restaurant. It would be the last time that Diane saw Warren Benson alive. 

They found him lying next to a dumpster twenty minutes later, after Diane had gone to search for him when he’d failed to return to their table. His body lay on the grimy floor, blood pooling around it amongst the rotting remains of discarded produce with his throat torn open. Warren appeared as if he had been mauled by an animal. However, there had been no sound of an animal or for that matter Warren’s cries while he was being attacked. Whatever had murdered Warren, had done it without either making a single sound. 

Sam and Dean’s first port of call was to investigate Buffalo Bob’s Smokehouse. Impersonating Agents Hope and Ehart of the FBI, another homage to Dean’s everlasting love of mullet music, they’d conned their way into the place and examined the crime scene. While the body had since been removed, the evidence of Warren Benson’s death was left within in the yellow police tape enclosing the spot he had fallen. The ground had since been scrubbed clean of blood and only a faint patch of clean remained of it in an otherwise filthy alley. 

Dean’s nose curled at the stench of garbage and disinfectant battling for supremacy and creating an unholy odour that did neither side any favours. He walked up the length of the alley, trying to see where this animal could have come from. If it was an animal at all. Perhaps there was a pet shop or something in the vicinity. However he discounted it because a dog would have attacked more than just the man’s neck and Warren’s injuries had been confined to one specific area on the man’s body. Nevertheless, it was smart to find a logical solution before deciding on a supernatural one. 

“Dean,” Sam called suddenly. “Come look at this.” 

Sam was standing at the wall next to the dumpster, staring at the brick wall. It was intact but the cement holding the bricks together had fissured in a half meter section of the wall from the top down to the base. The cracks in the concrete was not great enough to dislodge any of the bricks but a fine mist of mortar and cement dust had accumulated at the base of the wall. Sam ran his fingers along the concrete filling between the bricks and felt some of it crumble upon contact. 

Dean stared at the wall from side to side and had to agree. “It’s just this section of wall.” 

“That’s weird right?” Sam looked to his brother. 

“Pretty weird,” Dean agreed and produced the EMF meter tucked away in his jacket. He hadn’t thought they’d need this piece of equipment but like a boy scout, he liked to be prepared. Of course if _anyone_ ever called him a boy scout, they would be killed as a lesson to the others. 

Flicking on the device he had built from bits he’d found at Bobby’s junkyard and an old Walkman, Dean’s eyes widened when the needle on the thing immediately perked up with life. The low cracking sound it made when it had detected unusually energy readings grew louder in intensity as he ran the EMF over the section of wall. 

“Could we be wrong?” Sam spoke out loud, not really expecting an answer. “Are we dealing with a ghost?” 

“This doesn’t feel like a ghost,” Dean retorted, lowering the device and considering the evidence before them. “But there’s something else going on here. We need to talk to his girlfriend, we need to see where he’s been.” 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, agreeing with him. 

*****

Buffy’s first order of business after she had left the Slice was to head back to school and her office. She communicated daily with Giles, Willow and Xander through emails, instant messenger and Facebook. Faith usually checked in with a text message from whatever location she was at to tell Buffy she was dropping by and get ready for a night out on the town. While their conversations were mostly social, when something relating to slaying cropped up, Buffy found that a phone call was the usually the fastest way to get in touch. 

It was 8 pm in England when Buffy called, hoping she got the mental calculations right before dialling. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up an old Watcher when he was trying to get his sleep. It made him really, really…wiggy. 

“Hi Giles,” Buffy spoke. 

“Hello Buffy,” Rupert Giles replied, the smile on his face as he sat at the desk in his study. “How are you?” 

Hearing his voice made Buffy burst into another bright smile, akin to the one that had bedazzled one Dean Winchester a short time ago. She never tired of hearing that reassuring voice that could make everything seem better when she felt things were at their worst. Even if she had accepted Hank Summers’ financial restitution for being a non-father, Giles as far as Buffy was concerned was her real dad in every way that mattered. 

“I’m good Giles,” Buffy answered, “but unfortunately this isn’t a social call. Something’s come up.” 

“Oh?” He asked and Buffy imagined him sitting straighter in his chair, pushing up his glasses further along the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“I overheard two guys at lunch today, talking about tracking a creature that they think killed somebody in town. I checked the news and there was a killing four days ago. The police don’t have any leads and it could well be a vamp but these guys…” she thought of Dean with the voice that moved over her skin like molasses and shook her head, “these guys were talking like they were used to catching monsters and they mentioned something called a rugaru. Does the Council have a crew in town and not told me about it?” Buffy asked though she didn’t think that Sam and Dean were Watcher material. Still it never hurt to ask. 

“Of course not,” Giles said automatically, almost offended that she’d asked. He’d never sanction any team being sent to Lawrence without telling Buffy first. “A rugaru you say?” He asked again. 

“Yes,” Buffy nodded. 

“Hold on a moment,” he told her and Buffy heard him putting down the receiver. The comforting sound of old pages being flipped was transmitted across the Atlantic as Giles consulted his books. 

As she waited, she considered what she would wear that evening to meet Dean. _Woah, you’re there to pump him for information remember?_ Buffy groaned. She couldn’t believe her mind just went there. 

“Here it is,” Giles said a moment later, snapping Buffy out of sinful thoughts about Dean and his hotness. “This is very interesting, the _rougarou_ is a shape shifting creature from the French-speaking communities of southern Louisiana, ‘garou’ meaning ‘a man who transform into an animal’.”

“Like a werewolf?” She asked still unhappy that she hadn’t known what the creature was, now that her mind was back on business. 

“Not quite,” Giles returned. “They do not affect a physical transformation like a werewolf but they do have change eye colour, into black if this picture is correct. It appears the condition arose from three hundred years ago when some settlers lost in the Louisiana bayou. Starving, they were forced into cannibalism and it was somehow transmitted through their genetic line. The present day rugaru are descendant of those settlers.”

“How come I’ve never heard of this?” She demanded, her tone almost accusatory. 

“They’re very rare Buffy,” Giles huffed. “There’s been only one or two reported cases. You say these men were aware of it?”

“Not just aware of it,” she retorted. “They sounded like they’d come across them before.” 

“Hmm…” Giles said in a tone she knew all too well. “If you’re willing to come out of retirement, it might be worth investigating who these men are.” He suggested. 

“Oh I’m already on it,” Buffy replied. “I’m meeting one of them for drinks tonight.” 

She could hear his disapproval over the phone. “Relax Giles, he thinks I’m some cute blond who finds he’s hot. I’m just doing it to get more information. I’ve handled vampires, gods and cyber monsters, I think can handle one cute guy in a leather jacket.” 

“Oh _really_?” Giles retorted. “I seem to recall….”

“I’m _hanging up_ Giles,” she said shortly and did just that. 

******

Agents _Hope_ and _Ehart_ had hoped to find Warren Benson’s fiancée, Diane Lee at campus housing at the University of Kansas where the victim had taught. However, the woman had given up the residence and gone home to her parents who lived in a nice home in Hancock. The nurse was still in a state of shock and it had taken some convincing by Sam and Dean for her parents let them talk to her. They were first generation immigrants from China who still viewed American authorities with some suspicion and would only consent to having Diane greet them on the front porch but no further. 

Even in her bereaving state, Diane was somewhat more hospitable than her family. While she did not disobey her parents’ determination to keep the FBI out of their home and their affairs, she did join Sam and Dean on the porch to allow them to carry out their interview. She was a young woman in her thirties, pretty and kind. The type of girl you spent your life with and Dean couldn’t help feeling angry for her loss. You get life all planned out and some monster with impulse control ends it for you from the time it takes to leave the restaurant table to the time it takes to get to the bathroom. 

Life was a bitch alright. 

“I’m not sure what more I can tell you,” Diane sniffed. Her eyes were red from crying and she was doing everything she could to maintain her composure as she sat on the swing porch in front of the two men in their dark suits. _The tall one could use a haircut_ , she thought offhandedly. “I told the police everything I know.” 

“I know ma’am,” Sam spoke kindly, “and we’re sorry to make you rehash it all. We’re operating on the possibility that this might not have been an isolated crime and we just wanted to check our bases before we make that determination.” 

“Alright,” she nodded. “How can I help you?” 

Dean dropped to his knees so that he could make eye contact and asked, “Can you tell us what you did that day. Was there anything out of ordinary? Anyone you might have come into contact with that seemed odd or out of place?”

She didn’t speak for a second, considering the question. “We were shopping for the new apartment. We hadn’t been there very long and Ren didn’t have new linens. We were just shopping down town, went to a few of the department stores to buy things at the apartment. We stopped at the Framewood and Phoenix Galleries and our last stop was the Lawrence Antique Mall. Then we went to Buffalo Bob’s.” 

“Did you buy anything at the antique store?” Sam asked. There were all kinds of mystical objects that could appear perfectly innocuous to the unsuspecting buyer until their true nature was revealed, usually to fatal consequences. 

“No,” she shook her head. “We were just browsing.” 

“Too bad,” Dean grumbled, drawing a puzzled expression from Diane before he recanted quickly. “I mean too bad that this happened to you ma’am. I’m real sorry.” He apologised for the gaffe. 

Sam frowned, thinking that antique store might be worth a look anyway but at present this appeared to be a dead end. Unfortunately, the only thing to do now was to wait for another body and see if there was a pattern they could follow. Dean had fired off a few more question at the woman at where the antique store was and whether or not Warren had any enemies. However, other than a few students who were unhappy about their grade, the man had never harmed a soul in his life. 

“Thank you for your help ma’am,” Sam said after Dean was done, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

*****

“What now?” Sam asked as they headed back to the Impala. Dean was already loosening the tie around his neck. 

“Well you look kind of wasted,” Dean said eyeing his brother. It concerned him that Sam’s condition as he completed each of the goddamn trials to close Hell’s Gates was taking its toll on him. “Let’s get back to the hotel, you can get some rest and we’ll check out the antique store tomorrow. It’s getting late in the day anyway.” 

“You just want to meet up with your blond cheerleader,” Sam retorted, giving Dean a knowing look. 

“Hell yeah,” Dean grinned. “That smile Sammy. Right here, right between the eyes.” He tapped the middle of his forehead. 

“I think your aim’s off,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Try a little further south.” 

“That’s cold man,” Dean returned with a smirk but didn’t deny it. 

*******

Buffy had never been to been to the Dynamite Saloon even though she had seen a number of times when she was walking down Massachusetts Drive. It was situated across the Buffalo Bob’s Smokehouse and as Buffy parked her car and walked towards the place, she suspected that the only reason that Dean had picked the establishment was because it was across the street from the crime scene where the body of Warren Benson had been found. 

If she had any doubt that she was out of practice with…well just about everything, it was how long it took for her to get dressed to make her date with Dean…what was his last name? Damn, she hadn’t even gotten his last name! Infuriated at her lapse, she was determined to get what she needed from him, one way or another. Keeping a different set of clothes in a tote bag on the back seat, Buffy dressed for a date. She wore a V neck kimono type blouse of pink Japanese silk that provided an ample but tasteful view of cleavage, a straight white skirt with a high slit and a gold sling backs. 

_If this outfit doesn’t get him talking, nothing would,_ she told herself. 

Walking into the Saloon, its décor was a mixture of wood panelling and deep burgundy colours. The lighting was ambient and the seats were mostly private booths although there was a row of stools against the bar. It was a Wednesday night and the bar wasn’t as very busy. She sought him out among the faces leaning against the counter, ordering drinks. Buffy saw him standing up, his gaze meeting hers and once again, he gave her _that_ look. The one that lacked the swagger of their first encounter, the one she couldn’t quite read. 

Walking up to her in the middle of the saloon floor, Dean ran an appreciative gaze over her from head to toe. “Damn,” he exclaimed, clearly pleased by what he saw. “You look incredible.” 

Even though this was supposed to be business, Buffy was rather flattered by the reaction and a bloom of colour appeared in her cheeks. “Thanks,” she offered him a grateful smile when she saw his sharp intake of breath. 

“Come on let’s sit down,” he stepped back and gestured to an empty booth. “What are you drinking?” 

“Uhm... I’m not so good with alcohol,” she confessed but didn’t want to seem like a complete dysfunctional. “What would you recommend?”

Dean tried not to smirk, “I’ll get you some iced tea.”

“That sounds good,” she said relieved that he hadn’t got her scotch or something stronger. 

Dean went to the counter, ordered himself a beer and got Buffy a Long Island ice tea before returning to the dimly lit booth where she was waiting. When she’d walked into the bar, she’d literally left him jaw on the floor. The surge of desire that surfaced in him was so strong, he almost considered asking her if she really wanted to waste time with drinks when they could be doing the nasty right this minute. With all the crap that was going on right now with the trials and Sam’s deteriorating state as he tried to complete them, Dean would take all the comfort he could get from a pretty face. 

And damn, what a pretty face it was. 

“So what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing in a town like this?” Dean asked when he slid into the booth across her. 

“Well that’s a little better than asking me if I know a good motel,” Buffy teased. “Really, is that your best pick up line?” 

Dean laughed and leaned forward, a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes, “well it definitely wasn’t my worst. I once tried to pick up a single mom with the line ‘kids are great’, like I had any experience of that.” 

“Ewww,” Buffy made a face at him and joined in his laughter, liking it that he wasn’t afraid to make _that_ revelation. “That one does kind of suck.” 

“Told you,” Dean admitted smiling, “so now that we’ve established I suck at pick-up lines, what _is_ a nice girl like you doing in Lawrence?” 

“Rolled into town one day three years ago and decided this was a good place to settle.” Buffy replied.

Three years ago. She’d mentioned it before but he hadn’t realised its significance until he thought about it now. Despite himself, he couldn’t help wince inside. He had also been in Lawrence three years ago. When Lucifer had taken Sam and the Apocalypse had been averted. He’d lost Sam that day and had walked away from the life or so he thought. 

_Shake it off Dean, he told himself, shake it off. That’s in the past and tonight is about the girl and her killer smile, not to mention her terrific body,_ he thought as he snuck a peak down the blouse she was wearing, tantalised by the creamy skin of her partially exposed breasts. 

Recalibrating to the business at hand, which was the woman in front of him, Dean admitted, “I used to live here when I was kid,” he volunteered. “It’s a nice town.” 

“You did?” She asked, feigning surprise when she recalled him saying so when she had been eavesdropping on him and his brother. “Why did you move away?”

 _What a question,_ Dean thought and decided he had opened the door in the first place. He was past the days when talking about his mom elicited sorrow and pain. He and Sam had been through much worse traumas since then. “When my mom died. My dad moved me and Sammy out of here.” Dean answered, deciding that the best answer was often a half-truth.

“Oh,” Buffy’s expression dropped, not wishing to bring back what was obviously a painful memory bythe effort he took to hide in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I lost my mom a few years back too. It’s never easy is it?” Without thinking, her hand drifted to Dean’s. 

Dean lowered his gaze to the hand across his and felt a rush of feeling. At that moment, he didn’t just want to fuck her, he wanted to spend the whole night making love to her. It was just so out of character for him.

“No it isn’t,” he said quietly, finding himself trying to regain his cocky demeanour. What the hell? In the past, Dean could use stuff like this to ride right into a chick’s bed. Why was it so goddamn hard to be that guy again? “But hey,” he perked up again, “life happens right? So you moved here three years ago and what do you do now?”

“I’m a guidance counsellor,” Buffy answered before taking a sip of the iced tea that was set on table by the waitress. She noted his discomfort at allowing her to see his grief, even if it was mutually shared and let the matter slide. She could understand his need to be so guarded. There was a time when Buffy was similarly armoured but these days empathy was part of the job description. 

Dean was just about to take a swig of his beer when she answered and he held the bottle still as his jaw dropped in surprise. “Get out. You’re a guidance counsellor? Man if they had guidance counsellors like you when I was in school, I’d be seeing you every day.” 

“Oooh, you’re getting better at this.” Buffy said impressed. 

Another grin escaped him and Dean retorted with typical confidence, “Darlin, you have no idea how good I can be.” He winked at her and drank. 

It would be so easy for Buffy to get lost in his bravado and his voice but she reminded herself that she had a job to do. “So what do you for a living, Dean?” She asked as she took another sip of her iced tea. It tasted yummy and she had to give him credit for knowing how to order a good drink.

“Vermin control,” he said automatically. That wasn’t exactly a lie either, just a gross understatement of the job. 

“Vermin control?” Buffy actually laughed out loud. She knew that he was some kind of amateur monster hunter and supposed vermin control could be a way of describing it. Thank God she never had to come up with an excuse to give people about slaying. Then again, she had made some lame excuses in the past too. “And your brother?” 

“He rides shot gun and screams whenever he sees a mouse,” Dean declared with a smirk and then added more seriously, “He’s my partner.” 

“That’s sweet,” Buffy replied, suspecting that there was more to it than that, “like a family business.” 

Dean stared at her and that odd smile crossed his lips again, “Yeah _something_ like that.” 

“Okay, what is that?” Buffy replied, catching the look and wanted to know what it was about. 

“What?” Dean asked caught off guard. 

“You have _something_ face.” She pointed out. 

“I have what?” He exclaimed, staring at her incredulously. This chick was crazy but he liked it. “What’s _something_ face?”

“You keep giving me this look,” Buffy said half teasing and half wanting to know. “I can’t figure it out.” 

“That just makes me mysterious,” he eased back against the seat, smiling cockily because she was so damn cute, even when she was trying to be serious. He liked her and Dean was surprised by how much. 

“Mysteries are just stuff you haven’t figure out yet,” she returned with narrowed eyes. “Fess up Dean, what are you thinking?” 

_Okay honey, you asked for it._

He was either going to get slapped in the face or get _very_ lucky. Dean was gambling on it being the latter because he knew she was into him and to his surprise, he was into her as well. Not just for sex but that was a good start. “I’m thinking,” he lowered his voice and leaned forward, gesturing her close so he she could hear him before saying huskily, “I’d like to get you in a room somewhere, where I can spend the night spreading you open and tasting you until you come screaming my name.” 

Buffy turned bright red, trying to formulate thought when his voice created such vivid imagery in her head. He was trying to unbalance her like he did this morning. However, when he stared at her with such heated intensity, it was hard to avoid being affected. 

“Does that whole…uhm line… ever work?” She asked after a moment, somewhat flustered but still maintaining some semblance of control. 

However, Dean was cheering inwardly. She hadn’t slapped him which meant she was interested and he knew the signs of aroused woman. “You tell me,” he spoke, still using the same seductive tone. “You’re still _here_.” 

“I’m trying to decide whether or not you think you’re _that_ irresistible or I’m _that_ easy,” she finally managed to respond. 

Despite her return serve, Buffy was uncertain how to take his brash manner. Angel had never been that way and while Spike was, she knew he was masking his own lack of self-worth and that evened out the balance between them. Riley was always so sensitive and well Parker was just an asshole. She was struggling to decide if Dean was being a jerk who just wanted to get into her pants or did he feel some deeper connection that had no need of the usual rules of courtship. 

“Darlin’ I don’t think you’re easy,” Dean replied on surer ground. “I think you’re fucking spectacular and I meant every word I said. Come on Counsellor, take a ride with me on the wild side.” 

That damn drawl again, the one that moved over her skin like molasses, making her heart pound and her breathing shallow. Had it been that long since the last time she had been with a guy that he was affecting her this way? Or was it the connection she had felt the instant their eyes had touched this morning? Buffy forgot all about her plan to learn more about him and attended to her own personal wants. When it came to men, she had the worst luck and she _liked_ him, liked his swagger and the _oh so obvious_ alpha male thing he had going. 

She just didn’t want to make a fool of herself, again. 

Buffy opened her mouth to answer Dean when suddenly someone started screaming.


	4. Chapter 4

The scream silenced the revelry in the saloon and any chance Dean Winchester thought he had of getting any action tonight. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean jumped to his feet immediately and hurried out of the booth, forgetting that he was on a date or that he owed Buffy any explanations regarding his sudden departure. 

The screaming was coming from the top of a flight of steps near the rest rooms in the saloon. A brunette was screaming hysterically when Dean reached her, shaking so badly and spouting out incomprehensible words through her wild gesticulation that Dean didn’t even bother to try and figure out what she was saying. Instead, he followed the direction of her flaying hands, down a short corridor that came to an end with a room that faced the front of the main street, judging by the view through the window. It was an office with a wooden desk and chair in the centre, a rug on the floor and a filing cabinet in the corner next to the window. The walls were adorned with newspaper clippings, posters of old bands and various licenses. 

The body that lay half across the rug could only be identifiable as male only because of the clothes he was wearing. There were no facial features left due to the bloody mess of flesh above the neck. The corpse was covered in a greenish fluid with parts of the flesh appearing to have been eaten away. Dean could see parts of bone through the gore of disintegrated meat. It was a grisly sight that was not aided by the near vomit inducing stench that assaulted the senses the moment anyone stepped into the room. Reaching for his jacket pocket, he extracted a handkerchief and covered his nose when he went closer to investigate. 

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked quietly of the dead man, not really expecting an answer.

*****

Buffy was suddenly visited by an odd and somewhat comforting sense of déjà vu when she heard the girl scream. Unlike Dean’s very forward pass, she had a clear understanding of what to do in this situation. However, before she had a chance to react, Dean had jumped to his feet and gone charging to confront whatever it was that had elicited that frightened cry. Without even a word to her as he went, Dean was gone in a flash, running up the staircase, leaving her at the booth trying to figure out what had happened. 

Whether or not it was going to blow her cover, Buffy was on her feet and following him barely a second later. Of course, he was wearing sensible shoes while she was in heels so naturally, she couldn’t move as fast as she liked. After the initial shock had lapsed, the crowd in the bar had started to react to the girl’s scream and Buffy knew that she didn’t have very long before they swarmed in on her and she would learn nothing. 

Buffy clacked her way up the stairs, just ahead of the staff in the Saloon, cursing she hadn’t worn boots or flats. She saw no sign of Dean and suddenly had an idea of how Willow and Xander felt sometimes, when she’d left them behind to go ahead to fight some Big Bad. She reached the doorway and saw Dean hunched over the body, examining it. 

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed at the sight of the body. 

Dean immediately turned to her and his hard expression softened to one of concern. “Hey Buffy, you don’t want to be here…” he said when she cut him off. 

“That’s not vamp kill.” She stated.   
Anything else he had to say died with that statement and he blinked hard and stared at her, “What did you say?” 

“I said,” Buffy walked past him, ignoring his stunned expression and winced immediately when confronted by the awful stench. “God what is that smell….” She complained covering her nose with her palm as she leaned in towards the body to examine it herself.

Dean was still standing there open mouthed, staring at her, “I don’t know,” he muttered and then asked, “did you just say _vamp_?” He thought he must have heard wrong. 

“Yeah, vamp,” she answered and then dismissed his shock because she had slipped so easily into slayer mode, that any self- consciousness she had displayed during their earlier conversation was gone. Now she was the Slayer again, on solid ground with no doubt or hesitation about what she needed to do. 

Dean watched her astonishment as she marched to the body, dropped down to the same position that he had taken a moment ago and begin scanning the dead man’s injuries. The vibe of the cute, somewhat sexually repressed girl had vanished and had evolved into this new exciting creature in front of him. Confident, strong and completely unfazed by what she was seeing, Dean found that for the first time since he’d met her, the tables were turn and he was the one unbalanced and running to play catch up. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Buffy declared, reaching for a pencil that had rolled off the desk and landed on the floor near her. Using the pencil, she touched the viscous liquid that covered the man, attaching a thick pregnant drop to its tip. Even as she held it, it started to burn. “It’s like acid.” 

_She’s a hunter or something close to a hunter_ , Dean thought. That was the only explanation for how easily she was accepting what was in front of her. She hardly flinched at the sight of the victim, just the stench emanating from it. And she had said vamp like it was a common occurrence in her life. Was she a hunter? A hunter named _Buffy_? It sounded so ridiculous he almost laughed but here she was, conducting the same assessment of the scene that he and Sam would do if they were confronted by this. 

Regaining his composure, Dean joined Buffy in studying the victim. “It’s just over him. There’s no splatter marks over anything, just him. I can’t see how they got it on him, unless they painted it on,” Dean answered. “You said you never seen this before, what else have you seen?” He asked. 

Buffy turned to him and gave him an enigmatic smile, “that’s a long conversation.” 

There would be time to play twenty questions later but right now, there was work to be done and Dean returned to the subject at hand. “You’re right, it is some kind of acid. Look, we got maybe five minutes tops before the cops get here. Less before everyone else from downstairs to get up here. I need to look around, see what else is here.” 

“ _We_ need to look around,” she corrected. 

“Right,” Dean nodded with a taut smile not about to argue with the limited time they had, “ _We_. You take the body and I’ll work the room, okay?” 

“Okay,” Buffy agreed, guessing that he was used to working with a partner and saw that as an equitable division of labour to get through what needed to be done before they lost access to the scene. She continued her examination of the dead man and noted something on his arm. It was barely discernible and easy to miss because of the damage to the flesh and the fact that it was located in a place where there had been a tattoo.

“Did you see the bite mark?” She asked, pointing to the marks with the tip of her pencil. 

“Bite mark?” Dean declared, paying more attention to the fine dust on the base of one wall. He ran his fingers along the paint finish and saw no sign of cracks or fissures of any kind that would produce such a layer. Yet it was there as if something had cracked. He looked about to see if there was any damage on the ceiling or surrounding walls that might have explained its origins but there was nothing. It was almost identical to what they had found in the alley. At the mention of bite marks however, he came back to her. 

“Here,” she pointed to the man’s arm. “That’s not a vampire bite.” She said firmly, giving him no illusions as to what she knew and didn’t know. “I’ve never seen one that looks like this.” 

Dean stared at her again and his smile broadened before he regarded the body again. “Me neither and not with this acid crap all over it.” 

Suddenly, they could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Their time was up. The brunette’s screams had abated but the commotion of other people following them into the room was fast approaching. They wouldn’t be able to leave without running into the new arrivals and they’d have to explain their presence. 

“I swear I’m not trying not to cop a feel but play along,” Dean said quickly and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her to him in a close intimate grip. 

Buffy was about to protest when the brunette along with the bartender and one of the waiters appeared at the doorstep. She had no doubt that the police would soon be next. She and Dean had to get out of here before the authorities arrived. The last thing she needed was the cops in this town questioning why a high school guidance counsellor was at the scene of a murder. 

“Jesus Christ!” The bartender, a heavy set black man with a John Holmes moustache cried out at grisly sight. His shock did not last long and was soon turning his attention to Buffy and Dean and demanding what they were doing there. “Who the hell are you?” Next to him, the brunette had started squealing again while the waiter doubled over, throwing up the contents of his stomach on the dark wood floor. 

“ _Woah_ ,” Dean winced at the sight of the man’s regurgitation, “Sorry man, I couldn’t stop the little woman from running up here and checking out the body,” Dean explained, slapping Buffy’s ass as he spoke. “She loves all this gross stuff…”

Buffy turned to Dean, ready to deliver her own slap (in the form of a right hook) before she recalled what he said about playing along with him and managed to offer the trio a look of embarrassment and apology.

“That’s just sick,” the bartender declared, appalled as he shook his head at Buffy like she was some kind of deviant. “That’s our friend over there! Have some respect.” 

“Yeah, I’m real sorry,” Dean repeated himself, feigning a more sombre demeanour. “We’ll just be on our way.” He assured them and started steering Buffy towards the door. 

“Get out of here!” The man barked at them, torn between outrage and grief, “we’re calling the cops!” 

“We’re going, we’re going! I’m so sorry.” She said finally, letting Dean guide her towards the door, his arm still wrapped around her waist as they hurried out into the corridor. 

“The little woman?” She glared at him when they were alone. 

“Don’t worry honey,” Dean grinned as they reached the staircase leading back to the saloon floor “I’m sure they don’t think you get off on seeing all that blood….” 

*****

Twenty minutes later, they were back at the Slice. 

At this time of night, it was virtually deserted except for the waitresses on the late shift. Buffy had never been to the Slice at this time of night so she wasn’t surprised to see that Mary was gone for the day when she and Dean stepped into the diner. They’d driven here in his car, a gorgeous black Chevy that reminded her of Angel’s T-Bird that had a tape deck. Who had a tape deck anymore? They’d avoided all the questions that they were dying to ask each other and yet the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything it was liberating. Like there was no need for secrets, no need to lie about who they were or the darkness they were so obviously aware of. 

Dean threw a sidelong glance at her as he had driven, studying her profile, trying to unravel the mystery about her. He was still rather stunned by the transformation of this rather prissy girl who blushed at the thought of raunchy sex into this confident, powerful woman who talked about vamps the way he and Sam talked about demons. He’d pretty much decided that she was a hunter but then again, she didn’t live like one. Hunters rarely held jobs as school teachers or settled in one place. However, the way she’d stepped up when they’d found that body, it was a glimpse of her he hadn’t seen when they were conducting their verbal foreplay. 

He didn’t think he could get turned on more by a woman but he _was._

“So,” he said finally after their coffee got served. “You’re a hunter.” 

Buffy blinked. “A what?” 

“A hunter,” Dean repeated himself, eyes narrowing. Either she was a hunter or she knew about monsters without knowing there were others out there who knew the same things that she did. It was a real possibility. Most hunters started out alone, thinking they were the only ones who knew what they did until they met someone who proved them wrong. Dean was certain that was how John got into the life before he met Bobby and all the other hunters. “You know, hunting monsters and things. That’s how you know about vamps right?” 

“No, I’m the Slayer,” she answered staring back at him bewildered. Hunter? She’d never heard the term in that context except the one time when she had hunted Oz but that asshole Cain had been all about the profit, not about helping people. She recalled what she had overheard between the two brothers earlier today, when they had been discussing what kind of creature they were dealing with. They hadn’t been talking about it like they were trying to score some trophy, they were trying to stop the killing before another person got hurt. “What’s a hunter?” She asked.

“What’s a Slayer?” Dean countered and another lengthy silence followed as they contemplated whether or not they should answer. Finally it was Dean who broke the deadlock, so to speak. “You first.” 

“Why me?” Buffy countered. 

“Because I asked first.” Dean pointed out, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips like he’d offered her some proverbial checkmate. 

“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy sighed, wishing Giles was here to answer the question. He lived for telling people about the lore around the slayers. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it, Buffy started to recite what had been drilled into her head since she’d been called.

_“In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”_

“You’re kidding,” Dean exclaimed, almost laughing out loud. It sounded like something out of a bad horror book, like those things Chuck the Prophet might write if the guy’s stories weren’t about the Winchesters. “A _girl_?” 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, “you know you’re not so cute that I won’t deck you.” 

Dean held her gaze and replied with a completely straight face, “so you think I’m cute.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes and reconsidered for a moment the whole part about decking him. Instead, she picked up the metal spoon resting on her saucer and studied it for a moment. It was made from stainless steel. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure the eyes of the rather bored waitress at the counter was still fixed on the exploits of Kim Kardashian in her magazine, Buffy faced front and folded the spoon in half. With a look of perfect innocence, she dropped it into Dean’s cup of coffee with a loud plink. 

Dean blinked and fished out the spoon, staring at it. It had to be a trick, he told himself and then tried to unbend it back to its former shape. After a minute of trying, in which he found Buffy looking at him with a bemused expression, Dean gave up. He couldn’t even budge it. 

“You should see what I do to shotguns.” She smiled smugly. 

“Damn woman!” Dean said impressed, meeting her smirk with one of his own. “A slayer huh? I’ve never read anything like that in all the lore I’ve researched.”

“Well I’ve never heard of a hunter either,” she replied. “So what is it?”

“A hunter? Well we’re mostly ordinary people who’ve run into some terrible creepy things and chose to fight it. I mean we didn’t know there were slayers out there doing this stuff. All we know is bad stuff happened to the people we cared about, usually involving some ugly monster that no one else can’t deal with.” 

“And you do this all the time?” Buffy was astonished that the Watcher Council was completely unaware of any of this. “How many of you are there?” She asked. 

Buffy had never liked the idea of civilians fighting monsters and yet according to Dean there was a whole culture of them that had been defending themselves, doing the job of slayers with nothing but their wits and shared experiences to get by. She felt kind of ashamed that in the past she’d underestimate the ability of ordinary humans to deal. Then again, hadn’t Xander risen magnificently to the occasion when she’d needed help? Willow too even before she started practising magic. 

“Lots of us,” Dean answered, “My grandparents were hunters so was my dad and my mom too. There’s a lot of us working jobs across the country. There’s just one Slayer?” He asked in return. 

“There used to be,” Buffy explained, “but a couple of years ago, there was a spell that activated all the potentials, girls who could be slayers. When they all woke up, I wasn’t alone any more. For the first time since I was fifteen years old, it wasn’t solely _my_ responsibility to save the world.” 

Dean was still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that there was an army of girls with super strength running around the place, fighting monsters. No hunter had ever encountered them, not once. How the hell was possible? “So then you retired to Lawrence, Kansas? Really?” 

His first choice would be California, near a beach with a lot of bikini clad chicks. 

“Well I was here on a job three years ago,” Buffy laughed, understanding his scepticism. Her friends had been no less comprehending when she had first told them of her intention to settle here. “There was something going on in town, me and a bunch of slayers came here. The Watcher Council who looks after the slayers and gives us all our information, told us something huge was happening in town here. They didn’t have any record of it but the signs were everywhere. Disasters, deaths, whole towns disappearing. There were also a lot of demons we’d identified as being non hostile who got the serious wigguns and left this plane of existence. Like rats deserting a sinking ship. We couldn’t even get our psychics to tap into whatever it was. The few that did, got their eyes burned out…” Buffy stopped speaking when she caught sight of the expression on his face. 

All trace of humour had drained out from it. 

“Three years ago?” Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, the realisation exploding behind his eyes like artillery shells. “This something huge, was it at Stull Cemetery?” He asked. 

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Yeah, you know it?”

“The something huge you were trying to stop?” Dean said drawing back into his seat and meeting her gaze, “That was Lucifer.” 

“Lucifer,” Buffy’s brow knotted. “Lucifer like in the Bible, Lucifer?” 

“That’s the son of a bitch,” Dean replied nodding. “He got out of the cage he was trapped in, was about to bring on the Apocalypse. All that stuff that was happening, you know the wrath of god type catastrophes? That that was _all_ him. There were angels and demons running around the place, killing each other. It was a real goddamn mess.” 

The scale of it made Buffy’s head hurt and she felt angry that it had all taken place without her. “You know,” Buffy said unhappily a moment later, “something’s wrong here.” 

“No kidding,” Dean retorted with a frown. “This was _so_ not the way I thought this date was going to go.” 

Buffy chuckled, finding his manner infectious. “You mean because I’m not in bed with you yet?” She asked teasing him. “I _mean_ ,” she swatted him on the shoulder like they’d known each other for years not hours, “that the Watchers haven’t heard of any of this or you hunters haven’t heard of the stuff we’ve been going through.” 

Dean couldn’t deny that, “well an army of super powered chicks running around saving the day is definitely something that wouldn’t have stayed off our radar for long.” 

“Well we can figure that out later,” Buffy shrugged, aware that she was going to have a very serious conversation with Giles about this. There were so many gaps in the Watcher Council records lately that it was becoming more than a coincidence. That a bunch of humans could have stopped an Apocalypse of biblical proportions without the Council or the slayers having any knowledge of it was either due to extreme incompetence or something was happening than neither camp were aware of. “Right now, something is killing people in my town and I want it stopped.” 

Dean drank in the sight of her, thinking that she looked fucking awesome when she talked like that. She’d been cute before but now his attraction to her had been ratcheted up to such a level, it was almost painful not being able to do all the things he had suggested to her earlier. “You’re pretty hot when you’re doing your…slayer thing? You know, the best way to end a great date is to…” 

“Oh my god!” Buffy rolled her eyes. “You are a total man whore aren’t you?” She declared smiling at him. “I thought we’re talking a job here.” 

“We are but we’re not going to catch our monster until tomorrow? Unless you got some leads that I don’t know about.” He challenged. 

“I don’t know _anything_ ,” Buffy scowled, disliking the fact that this had taken place in the town she lived in and had required a pair of ordinary civilians to bring it to her attention. It was never like this in Sunnydale. Then again, Sunnydale was nowhere the size of Lawrence. “You were the one at the first scene. Did it look anything like what we saw tonight?” 

“No,” Dean shook his head. “That one had bite marks but those did look like they could have belonged to a vamp or rugaru. Nothing like this one.” 

“There’s gotta be something connecting them,” Buffy insisted. “There always is.” 

“I’ll get my brother to do some investigating tomorrow,” Dean replied, “our covers blown there after tonight. See if we can’t find the link. So you coming out of retirement to help us on this?” He asked her. “I mean I know it’s hard dragging yourself away from your nice office to get back into the game.” 

“I told you,” Buffy said firmly, aware that he was snaking her again, “this is my town and I want it stopped. I’ve got vacation time coming to me, I’m going to work this with you.” 

Dean noted that she wasn’t asking him. 

“Okay then,” he nodded, leaning forward, “we should seal this partnership with a good hour or two of marathon sex. That will get us into the mood for a good night’s sleep and a fresh start tomorrow.” 

Buffy kicked him under the table.


	5. Chapter 5

“So let me get this straight,” Sam said, staring at Dean from across the small table in their motel room the next morning, “While I was sleeping, you managed to stumble onto another death and then blab what we do to your _date_?”

If there was one thing John Winchester had drilled into their heads, it was to never tell anybody their big family secret. Sam had lived with Jesse for a year and half and never revealed the truth and the only time Dean had only ever done it was to the girl he had fallen in love with. The fact that he had revealed all to the cute blonde he’d met only yesterday was not only dangerous, it was downright astonishing.

In light of Dean’s revelation, Sam didn’t know whether to be astonished or angry. Finally, he decided to go with astonished because it was so rare that Sam had the high ground with Dean and even rarer when his brother appeared so completely flustered. Dean's reaction to Sam's accusation of blabbing was priceless and the younger Winchester even felt a twinge of guilt (though not much) at breaking his brother's balls. However, it was too much fun to sit back and enjoy the spectacle of Dean tripping over his tongue trying to explain himself.

“I _did not_ blab to my date," Dean feigned outrage even though to his chagrin, that was exactly what he had done. However, Dean was convinced he was justified in his actions and was prepared to defend himself to his obnoxious brother. “Look,” he said trying to not sound defensive, which he was, “she knew her stuff alright? I figured her for another hunter. A hunter named Buffy,” Dean explained, a mental picture of the girl carrying a crossbow and nothing else temporarily scrambled his train of thought. With a start, Dean got back on track when he remembered Sam was watching him, “who knew she was actually a slayer.”

Sam did a double take and demanded. “A what?”

“A slayer,” Dean repeated, growing ever more exasperated by the look of disbelief on Sam’s face. “Supposedly, there’s one in every generation, a girl who fights vampires, demons and monsters. From the way she tells it, the slayer was created when these Shamans called the Shadow Men got together and ran a spell giving a girl these special powers. Since then, it gets passed along when the slayer dies and another one is called.” 

When Buffy had told him about the Slayers, he hadn’t much liked that part of her story mostly because it implied she had a finite shelf life or rather _had_ when she was the only Slayer in existence.

“Special powers?” This was getting more far-fetched by the minute, Sam thought until he remembered that there was a time when he was the one who had 'abilities' and had no right to judge on this point.

"Hell yeah! She bent a spoon in front of me. I mean I couldn't even budge it." Dean insisted, ready to switch to violence to wipe away that smug look on Sam’s face. His brother could be such a dick sometimes, Dean fumed.

"Well that's because you're a pussy," Sam said automatically, receiving a punch in the arm for his trouble.

"Smart ass," Dean growled at him and then replied in a more earnest tone. “Sammy I know it’s crazy but I believe her okay? You know me, I'm the most suspicious son of bitch there is but this girl…I think she was on the level. She knew about vamps, she knew something went down here three years ago at Stull Cemetery. She wasn’t sure exactly _what_ but she knew the slayers didn’t get there in time and missed it.”

Mention of Stull Cemetery made Sam sit up straighter.

There were a handful of people who knew what happened to Lucifer and to him that day at Stull Cemetery. While most hunters were aware that the war had ended due to the Winchesters, very few had any idea about the specifics and certainly none that knew it had taken place at Stull Cemetery, the location of Lucifer's cage. If this girl had access to resources that could discern that information, then maybe there was something to her story after all. Sam's greatest difficulty however, was believing he could have gone through all the lore and missed something as important as the existence of a slayer.

Still, one incontrovertible truth remained if nothing else convinced him; Dean _trusted_ her.

Dean didn't trust _anyone_. His brother had the best instincts of any hunter he'd know. Sam never voiced it but he often thought Dean was a better hunter than John Winchester. When he went with his gut, he was seldom wrong. Even when he put his trust in Benny, the vampire he'd met in Purgatory, it had served him well. So far, Benny had behaved like no vampire Sam had ever encountered, save Lenora and her cadre who had sworn off blood and then it was Sam asking for Dean's trust. His brother had given it and so if Dean believed this girl, assuming he wasn't doing it because he had a thing for blond cheerleaders (who didn't?), then Sam would give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay Dean," Sam conceded the point for Dean's sake of Dean’s continued sanity, "If you trust her then that's good enough for me. I trust _you_."

After the last few minutes of ball busting, Sam's sudden vote of confidence took him back a bit and Dean settled down, recovering from what he deemed as one of Sam's 'chick' moments.

"Thanks," He said simply, wanting to leave the subject behind.

Still, Dean was grateful that Sam was deferring to his judgement because he was happy to get all the help he could get on this job. Despite his brother's assurances, Sam did not look well even after getting more than fourteen hours sleep. There were far too many dark circles under he still looked pale. Sam wasn’t concealing his exhaustion at all. The trials, which should have been Dean's to undertake, was taking its toll on Sam and he wasn't sure how much more his baby brother could take before his body gave out. If there was a way out for Sam, Dean was determined to find it.

"There is one thing strange though," Dean mentioned as he sipped substandard coffee from a Styrofoam cup, "she says she gets her info from a group called the Watcher Council who're there to help the slayers. They sound a hell of a lot like the Men of Letters and I wondered if you saw anything like that when you were going through the books in the Batcave?"

"No," Sam shook his head, certain on that. "I mean I haven't been through all the stuff in the bunker but I didn't see anything referring to a Watcher Council or a slayer for that matter. Something like that, I would have _remembered_. " 

"Doesn't make sense then," Dean shook his head, giving up trying to figure it out, "nothing from the Men of Letters and her Watcher Council had no idea about Lucifer, other than the usual stuff in the Bible. I mean she was clueless about the angels and demons running around."

"That's _a lot_ of gaps," Sam agreed, his brow furrowing in thought. He wondered if he ought to consult his father's journal and then dismissed the notion. Both he and Dean and read the thing cover to cover over the last eight years and they'd seen nothing to suggest the existence of a slayer or a Watcher Council. Then again, John Winchester had been unaware that his own father was a Man of Letters.

"Yeah right?" Dean stated when suddenly there was a knock on their door.

In typical Winchester fashion, they both went for their guns.

Dean stood up first, motioning Sam to stand by while he approached the door cautiously, the barrel of his '45 leading the way. Slowly, he leaned forward and peered through the peep hole, seeing who it was. A fraction of a second later, Sam saw Dean's shoulder's slump, relaxing. He stepped back form the door a second later wearing a somewhat a sheepish expression on his face before lowering the gun.

"Who is it?" Sam asked puzzled, doing the same.

Dean didn't answer but opened up the door and stepped aside.

"Hi there," Dean's 'slayer' greeted them as she swept into the room carrying three cups on a cardboard holder and a brown paper bag. "So I took a week off work so we can work this job together. I thought we'd get started bright and early so I brought breakfast. I stopped at the Slice and got Mary to fill your coffee orders from yesterday. I figure we can start by talking to the second victims’ family since I’m guessing you already did the first one. I think unless the family is someone who saw us at the saloon last night, we can still do it. Although, if it someone who saw us then I think you’re right, Sam’s going to have to go in alone.”

She said all this without breath as she lowered their breakfast onto table. The nice, wafting aromas immediately prodded both men’s stomachs to jump to attention.

Glancing at Dean, she concluded, "Can't believe you keep in shape eating the junk you do."

Staring past at her at Sam, Dean swallowed thickly, trying to maintain his usual swagger as he finally realised he paused to speak at last, "Hey Counsellor."

His first thought, other than ‘God she could talk’ was even in street clothes, she still looked spectacularly hot. She was wearing this cute girly burgundy jacket, jeans and boots that made her a little taller, but not much. She looked as good in pants as she did in that ass grabbing skirt she’d worn the night before.

Sam was still playing catch up.

"Working this job _together_?" He threw Dean a questioning look since this was all news to him.

"Well yeah," Dean cleared his throat as Buffy stood between the two of them, her eyes jumping from face to face in expectation of a response to her earlier plan of attack. "I mean this is Buffy's turf after all and she wants in."

"And you said _yes_?" Sam was more incredulous by Dean’s agreement than Buffy’s presence.

"Is there a problem?" Buffy stared at him, realising now that she'd barged into the room and gone off like some bossy drill sergeant (with nicer clothes and not so much moustache hair) without giving them both a moment to catch their breaths or process what was happening for that matter. "It is okay right?"

"Its fine," Sam replied good-naturedly, smiling at her and gesturing at Buffy to join them at the table. "I'm just wondering what you did with my brother. He's not usually this..."

"Friendly?" Buffy offered.

" _Whipped_ ," Sam said with a widening grin.

"Sammy I swear I'll kick your ass," Dean threatened as he sat down on opposite Sam. "Look we don't work jobs on other hunter's turf. This is no different." He said once again attempting to convince Sam that he wasn’t thinking with his hormones here. Well not entirely.

Sam laughed, taking delight in Dean's reddening colour before turning to Buffy, "Thanks for breakfast.” He said reaching for the bag, “please excuse my brother while he’s trying to regain his dignity."

"Bite me," Dean retorted, making a face at him as the three sat down.

Buffy relaxed a little once she realised that Dean's relationship with his brother was not all that different from her own with Dawn. They were constantly bickering but beneath it all there was a bond stronger than steel. One only had to hear about how Dean talked about Sam to know that Dean felt as strongly towards his younger sibling as Buffy did. And like Dawn, Sam enjoyed getting seeing big brother tripping over his ego from time to time. She supposed she ought to be flattered since Sam’s ribbing gave her a clear idea of how Dean normally regarded his dates. It upped his cute quotient another notch.

"God, you're such boys," she teased, giving them both looks that could only be delivered by the female of the species. 

"Guilty," Sam admitted and reached for the cup marked 'latte' on the holder. Grateful to discard the stale coffee he’d been drinking, he popped the cover and took a long swig, before asking her, "So you're a slayer?"

"Yep," she nodded. "Every generation, one girl in all the world, blah, blah, blah," she trailed off hoping Dean would have given his brother the lowdown without her having to take someone else through it again. Giles was so much better at it than her and Faith’s response of ‘deal with it’ had its merits too.

"I've never heard of it," Sam confessed. "Not even once."

"I'm not surprised," Buffy answered, understanding his confusion. "I talked to Giles last night after you dropped me off," she glanced at Dean who was rummaging through the paper bag before turning back to Sam, "Something really freaky is going on. When we tried to figure out what was happened three years ago, we were operating under the assumption that we had all the books on the subject. I mean the Watcher Council had volumes and volumes of ancient texts. However, the books you mentioned didn’t exist for us until I told Giles to go find them. It seems they’re out there but no one had gone looking. The Watcher Council thought they had every occult book in existence in their library and somehow, they just missed yours."

"I wonder if it’s the same thing for the Men of Letters." Dean mused.

"Could be," Sam replied, more aware of the library at the bunker than anyone else. He'd spend most of their time in the place reading all the books there. It was the closest thing to home the two of them had ever had. "When this job's done, what we should do is try and run some kind of comparison against each library’s collection.”

“Okay, okay, you two can get off on your Dewey Decimals later,” Dean retorted, eager to get to the job at hand. You had to cut Sam off when he descended into research talk or he’d be like a winner at Oscar night, going on and on. Besides, it bored him to tears. "Right now, we got to work out this case. You need to get on the net and find out what you can about the poor bastard who died last night."

“Right,” Sam nodded and stood up to go find his laptop.

“While you’re doing that,” Buffy spoke up, “I spoke to my friend Willow last night. She’s a wiz on the computer like Sam and she was able to tap into Kansas Medical Examiners database and pull a copy of the preliminary autopsy report. She sent it through to me this morning, I haven’t read it yet.” She explained as she reached into her jacket and produced the printout before dropping it on the desk.

“Nice one Counsellor,” Dean said approvingly and picked up the printout and unfolded it to read. “Sam, the dead guy was the owner of the saloon. His name is Bob Sherman.”

“Great,” Sam replied when he returned to the table with his laptop and sat down.

“Says here,” Dean said continuing to read. “He was dead before the acid was poured all over him.”

“Thanks for small favours,” Buffy remarked, hating to think the man suffered after recalling the disintegrated flesh and exposed bones.

"Yeah,” Dean agreed and then looked up, “According to the medical examiner, the cause of death was poisoning with something called atracotoxin."

"What is that?" Buffy asked, nose wrinkling. 

“Venom,” Sam stated, not looking up from his laptop screen.

"From a snake?" She looked at him.

“No,” Sam said continuing to pound the keys of a laptop. “Spider or specifically the Australian Funnel Web spider.”

“Yep,” Dean added, uncertain to be proud or disturbed that Sam had all this information in his head. “That crap all over him is the same kind of acid produced by spiders."

"Gross," Buffy made a face wishing she’d tuned out after hearing the word spider. "So a spider bit him and then spit up on him?"

"It makes sense," Sam replied. "Contrary to popular belief, spiders don't drink all fluid from its prey. It bites them to kill or immobilize them and then regurgitates acid to break down the body so it can just drink it up.”

“Ewwww….” Buffy exclaimed.

"Jeez Sam," Dean stared at his brother in distaste. "Knowing stuff like this is why you never get laid."

Sam made a face at Dean but offered no other comment, more interested in learning what they could about their victim through the Internet.

"So what are we saying here, a giant…Australian whatsit spider bit Bob in his office and then tried to eat him?" Buffy asked. Oddly enough, after encountering a giant praying mantis creature who tried to mate with its victims prior to devouring them, an enormous spider roaming around Lawrence was _not_ the strangest things she’d ever heard of.

"Then we should have seen it getting ready to chow down,” Dean retorted. “I mean you and me were right on top of that chick screaming. If this was an eight legged freak situation, we would have seen something and what about the first victim? That sure as hell wasn't a spider."

"Maybe it’s something manifesting as a giant spider?" Sam suggested. “Like a shifter.”

“Shifter can’t do the acid. I don’t care how versatile it is.” Dean returned.

Buffy sat back a moment, taking in how the two worked together. Clearly Sam was research guy and Dean was the one driving the plan of attack. It was not unlike how she had worked with the Scoobies and Buffy had to admit that while she didn’t miss the slaying, she _did_ miss the friends she had worked with. Sure, they stayed in touch but still, the days when she, Willow and Xander would sit in the library at Sunnydale High with Giles watching over them, were undoubtedly the best of her life. 

“Whatever it is,” Buffy spoke up, returning to the conversation, “we need to know how this thing finds its victims. Any ideas?” 

“Well according to this,” Sam lifted his head from the laptop screen, “Bob has lived in Lawrence all his life. He owns a house in Oread, married with three children. He’s never travelled abroad and is pretty much your typical Midwestern bar owner.”

“No similarities to Benson,” Dean sighed. “Benson was a Professor at Kansas U, had a fiancée, had just moved into town and lives on campus. No kids.”

“So it’s just random,” Buffy frowned. “Those are the hardest to pick.”

“There’s something,” Dean said firmly. “There _always_ is. Sammy, me and the Counsellor were burned at the bar last night so we can’t go back there asking questions.”

“Yeah,” Buffy shot Dean a dark look. “They think I’m some kind of sicko thanks to your brother.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that which only resulted in getting kicked under the table again. “Ouch, man you can kick for someone with such little feet.” He teased.

“Did I miss the wedding?” Sam asked trying to keep a straight face.

“Don’t be funny,” Dean retorted, casting an awkward glance at Buffy to see her reaction and found she was just as embarrassed. Why? Hey he was a catch! Realising where his brain had just taken him, he shook it off and got back on point. “Okay smart ass, you’re going to have to talk to the people at the Saloon. The Counsellor and I will take Bob’s family. Sound good to you?” He asked Buffy.

The plan was sound so Buffy nodded, “yeah that works for me.”

“So,” Sam said easing into his chair, a slow smile stealing across his face as he asked Dean, “the big question now is what will it be? Agents Castle and Beckett, Mulder and Scully or Clark Kent and Lois Lane?”

Sam ducked when the napkins came at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Two hours later, Dean and Buffy were standing across the street from Bob Sherman’s two story Dutch Colonial house in Oread, ready to talk to the man’s grieving family to determine some connection between him and Warren Benson.

When they’d first talked about this in Dean’s motel room, it had seemed easy enough to do. However, now that the moment had come, she was apprehensive. During her time as Slayer, she had been called to do many things. However, impersonating the law so they could get past the front door of a victim’s family to question them was a _first._

As it was, she ran a critical eye over herself and had little faith in the navy blue suit she had worn to play the part required to convince Mr. Sherman’s family to talk to them. Before today, Buffy had only ever worn the thing _once_ and that was during her interview for her job at the high school. Since then, it had been languishing in a forgotten corner of her closet until Dean Winchester had told her that in order to impersonate an FBI agent, she needed to look the part.

When he’d picked her up at the apartment after she’d left their motel room to go home to change, Buffy found herself staring at him, jaw agape at the transformation. While she felt drab and uncomfortable in her suit, he on the other hand looked _amazing_. Buffy had already decided that the man was a hottie when he wore that beat up leather jacket of his but in a suit, he ramped his attractiveness to a whole new level. Looking as crisp as newly minted bill, he was all shades and G-Man like in his dark suit with tie knotted perfectly.

It was just typical that he’d look like something out of GQ while she looked like something out of the Pennysaver. 

“You ready for this?” Dean asked, sensing some hesitation in her manner when they stood at the sidewalk next to the parked Impala.

“I guess,” she answered, trying to dispel her anxieties before staring at him intently, “you sure this is going to work?"

Dean grinned confidently, dropping his hand to the small of her back before leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Trust me baby, I've done this a hundred times before. I'll be _gentle_."

Buffy let out a groan of exasperation not only because his touch with her back was very distracting but also because he had utterly no shame. “Not helping,” she retorted, punishing with him a glare. 

Dean laughed, certain that she would do fine even if he was taking her out of her comfort zone. Then again, he rather enjoyed getting her flustered because she did that pouty that was unbelievably hot. It made him wonder what she would look like when he finally got her into the sack, whether she’d still wear that flushed look when he was inside her. Forcing away the tantalising image because it was scrambling his concentration, Dean returned his focus to what they had to do right now. 

“Come on Counsellor,” Dean steered her across the street, his tone a little more serious. “Just think of it like you’re trying to get a messed up teenager to talk about her skipped period or something.”

“God!” Buffy shot him an aghast look, unable to believe the man could be so cute and crass at the same time. “You are so….I can’t even say it.” Her words sputtered into a shake of her head in resignation. “Okay, let’s do this. Who are we again?" She asked deciding the best way forward was to get this over and done with.

"Agent Kurt Hammert and Dave…I mean Dee Mustaine," he answered proudly until he saw the blank expression on her face. “Metallica?”

“Is that like a car paint?” Buffy returned. 

Now it was Dean’s turn to be appalled. His mind near overloading from the outrage, he turned away instead, muttering to himself, “I can’t believe you just said that…”

******

In retrospect, Dean hadn't given her bad advice in how to approach Bob Sherman's widow once they'd been allowed entry into the family home. When Warren Benson had been killed, Sam and Dean had interviewed his grieving fiancée a few days after the fact. There had been enough time for the woman to overcome her initial shock at her loss and start to face the world again. In the case of Terry Sherman, Bob's wife of 20 years, it had been only a matter of hours since her husband had been murdered. When Buffy and Dean faced her, she was barely holding it together.

They'd been shown into the living room by the eldest Sherman child, a 15 year old teenager named Jonathan who was coping with suddenly becoming the man of the house and struggling to rise to the occasion. Managing his own grief, the boy’s coping mechanism was to put all his energy into supporting his grieving mother and younger sisters in facing their sorrow at losing their father. Dean admired him for that.

"We won't take too much of your time," Buffy assured the woman after they had been seated. Terry was curled up on her sofa, clutching her sodden handkerchief. Her eyes were red and her skin pale. The dark circles under her eyes told Buffy the woman had probably not slept a wink since learning of her husband’s death. Dean had sat next to her but was allowing Buffy to take the lead since he suspected Terry would react better to Buffy than she would to him. “We're investigating the possibility that someone has illegally imported some high dangerous spiders into this country and your husband may not be the first victim."

"Oh God!" Terry said shuddering, trying to combat a fresh bout of tears at the mention of her husband being called a ‘victim’ and was temporarily overcome with emotion. She turned her face away as she struggled to regain her composure and Buffy felt another pang of guilt at putting her through this so soon.

Instinctively, Buffy reached for the woman’s hand and squeezed. She wished they didn’t have to put this woman through this but Dean was right, they needed answers to ensure another family didn't lose a loved one. When she was the slayer, she would have made that call. 

"Can you tell us anything about his movement in the last week? Anything out of the ordinary?" Buffy asked gently.

From the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Jonathan retreating into the hallway. Making his excuses that both the widow and Buffy would have seen through as wanting to leave them alone, Dean departed the room, letting Buffy do her thing. Instead, he stared down the hall to see where Jonathan had gone and followed the young man. He found the teenager in the kitchen a few seconds later. Jonathan appeared in the process of brewing his mother some tea. 

_A good kid_ , Dean thought.

The boy was facing the counter when Dean entered the kitchen. The older Winchester saw the teenager hastily wiping his eyes before turning to face him. His red eyes gave him away but Dean so no reason to call him up on it. Besides, guys didn’t talk about stuff like that. Well guys not named Sam, Dean thought. 

“Can…can I get you a cup of coffee Agent Hammert?” He asked quietly. 

"I'm fine thanks," Dean shook his head and then asked, "How are you doing?"

Dean was unsurprised when the boy seemed surprised that anyone was interested in his state of mind when his mother and sisters were the ones who really needed the support. However, Dean was accustomed to this too. In his youth, he'd been the glue that held the Winchester family together. Often standing between his father and Sam during their fights, it was Dean who reminded them that they were family, that all the anger and fiery words meant nothing in the face of that bond. Losing his dad had nearly broken Dean. It had left him adrift because for the first time, he didn’t know. There was nothing to fix and being so helpless had nearly driven him crazy.

"Okay I guess," Jon answered finally, shifting the position kettle of the cooktop once its whistling had reached climax. Leaning against the counter, he met Dean’s gaze, his attempts at a stoic demeanour crumpled as he was overcome by a surge of grief. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, choking out the words. 

Dean nodded in understanding, having been there too. The disbelief was one of the hardest things to overcome, the realisation that the worst that happened no matter how true it was. “I felt the same way when my dad died," Dean confessed and then added, "but I got through it and you will too."

Jonathan shook his head, more tears filling his eyes and he wiped these away with the back of sleeve before asking, “How did you do it? I can't think straight from it hurting so bad."

Dean sighed and offered what insight he could. The truth was, there was no magic pill to diminish the pain and whoever said time heals all wounds was talking out of his ass. It had been nearly seven years and no wounds had healed because Dean still felt like crap, still missed John Winchester every damn day. 

"I looked after my family," Dean answered firmly. "All I had left is my little brother and I had to take care of him. That was _my_ job." What that responsibility had cost him was something no one would ever understand and he wasn’t about to impart that to this grieving boy. Returning to the moment, he continued, “I didn’t think about my own pain, my own anger, I just concentrated on what my brother needed, put all that anger and rage into something good. You can do the same if that’s makes it better for you. Your mom needs you and helping her get through this can sometimes help you get through it too."

Jonathan seemed to absorb the words and Dean hoped the advice given was of some use to him. People were different in how they handled grief and Dean got a sense that Jonathan was one who would become stronger for it. 

There was a noticeable pause as they stood across each other, neither making eye contact until finally, it was Jonathan who broke the silence. 

“Thank you,” he said appreciating the effort of this stranger who seemed to understand and didn’t try shielding him from what was coming. He was the first person that Jonathan felt he could talk to about this. “He's only gone a couple of hours and I still can't believe it. I mean it was only yesterday we were talking about planning mom's birthday party. He was going to close off the Saloon for the night and invite all our friends and family. We'd even gone and picked up present at the antique store, it was one of them real old brooches, you know?"

“I know the type,” Dean replied, keeping to himself that those old fashioned brooches were notorious for being cursed and were usually the first things he and Sam torched when dealing with an unhappy spirit. He was still thinking this when suddenly, something the boy said made him stop short. "Did you say antique store?"

"Yeah," Jonathan nodded, “we all call it the Lawrence Antique Store but the name on the door says Antiquities, guess that makes it sound classy or something. Anyway, me and my dad went there at lunch yesterday and found mom this brooch.” 

As Jonathan continued speaking, Dean tuned out a moment, remembering what Diane Lee had said about the shopping spree she and Benson had been doing hours before he died. They were shopping for sheets or something and had gone to a couple of places that day. Hadn’t they also gone to an antique store too? 

Keeping his tone neutral and devoid of the excitement that this could be something important, Dean asked, “Hey that sound real nice, mind if I take a look? The brooch I mean."

"It’s not here," the boy replied, oblivious to his interest. "It’s still at the store. We were supposed to go back next week to pick it up. It was getting cleaned and engraved."

Dean frowned. It wasn't even on the guy? Most cursed objects needed to be at least within reasonable proximity to work. However, Dean knew from experience that there were charms that needed only brief contact to cause mischief. If this one hadn’t even left the shop, it was powerful enough to cross the distance between itself and its new owner. Assuming it was the brooch and not the store, which was also a strong possibility. It was definitely worth looking into either way, now that they knew about it. 

"I'm sorry," Dean apologised to Jonathan, empathising with the young man but also wanting to get to back to Buffy now so they could go check this out, not to mention contact Sam so that his brother could meet them at the store. "I better get back," he said tilting his head in the direction of the door. “You take care okay?”

“Yeah I will.” Jonathan said with a nod but Dean could see that he was not going to be okay, not for a while. He hoped for the boy’s sake it wasn’t too long a time. 

*****

When Dean returned to the living room, he arrived to see Buffy and Terry Sherman locked in an embrace. It was obvious that Terry had lost her composure again and Buffy was doing her best to console the woman. He stepped out into the hall for a few minutes, allowing Buffy to do her thing until the woman had regained control of her emotions and the slayer was able to extricate herself to make her goodbyes.

Leaving the house, Buffy was glad to be away from all that sorrow. She’d given the woman the name of a grief counsellor she knew in town and hoped Terry would call if she had difficulty coping. Stepping out into the sunshine, she soaked in the warm air and let the serenity of the morning centre her once more. Reaching behind her head, she released her hair from the bun it had been confined in and let gold hair spill over her shoulders, before running her fingers through it. It was a ritual to discard the persona she’d been wearing this morning. 

Dean watched her in silence, secretly mesmerized as she did this. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair himself, wanted to know if it felt like the gold silk it so resembled. Every time, he told himself this thing he was feeling for her was just his hormones on overdrive for a hot chick, she'd do something and he'd know he was kidding himself. For the first time, in too long, it occurred to Dean that leaving this one would actually be kind of hard. 

"You okay?" He asked her, no of innuendo and cockiness in his voice. What she’d gone through was hard and usually Dean left Sam to handle the emotional stuff because he simply didn’t have the disposition to offer comfort the way his brother and this slayer did. Resting his hand on her back once more, he ignored how right it felt to touch her and noted that she hadn’t swatted it away, a sign she felt the same too. 

Buffy allowed her own emotions to show when she turned to him. "They'd been together for 20 years with three children. They were happy Dean,” she said sadly. “They knew each other since grade school. They were high school sweethearts and were married almost straight after.” Her jaw tensed and she shot him a look of menace, “I want to kill this damn thing." 

Dean hid how seriously turned on by her comment because he shared the same sentiment. When he saw families busted up like this the way that yellow eyed son of a bitch had destroyed his own family, he wanted to lash out and kill something too. “Well Merry Christmas Counsellor because I think the kid may have given us a lead. 

“Oh?” Buffy glanced at him briefly as they crossed the street towards the Impala. “What lead?”

“Well looks like Sherman went to the Lawrence Antique Store yesterday and I remember Benson’s fiancée saying that on the day he bought it, they’d gone shopping and had stopped at the same place. It ain’t much of a connection I grant you but antique stores are filled with junk people don’t think are dangerous until it bites you on the ass. Still, it’s the best link we’d found so far between the two.”

Buffy had to agree with that sentiment. The number of times she’d come across a demon or a monster that had been unleashed because someone bought an object that appeared completely harmless only to discover that it was fatally not so. 

“So,” she said batting her lashes at him in teasing, “we’re going antiquing honey?” 

For some reason his expression soured and he replied, “As long as it with you and not Sam.”

*****

Once they’d left Oread, Dean drove the Impala back to Massachusetts Drive after calling Sam and telling his younger brother what they had learned. Sam had finished talking to the staff of the Dynamite Saloon and could meet them at the antique store in question as it was only a few blocks away from where he was. 

As expected, he hadn't learnt any more than the fact that Bob Sherman was liked by his staff, could be a hard ass with misbehaving customers but had offended no one to the point of deserving the death he had suffered the night before. 

Despite its presence in the mall, it was not easy to find the antique store. It’s presence on premises seemed almost an afterthought, as if a vacant store front had existed and the mall owners hadn’t cared who occupied the space since it was a stand out among all the specialty store. Tucked away at the rear of the mall, the entrance to the premises announced itself with a sign that simply stated ‘Antiquities' in old Copperplate Gothic font and ‘the Lawrence Antique Store’ in smaller print beneath. The frontage was two sections of paned glass walls divided by an old wooden door. It looked like something out of a Dickens novel. 

In the window display, dressmaker's mannequin stood in headless and armless glory, clad in a white gown of lace and satin. It stood watching over the display case carrying with old jewellery including the brooches that Bob Sherman had undoubtedly bought for his wife, inviting patrons inside for further investigation. Once the bell on the door had run and they’d entered, they saw the interior was a clutter of old furniture, books, brass ornaments, statues and faded paintings. While there was an aisle meandering through the rows of shelves and display cabinets, it was easy to get lost in the place. 

Buffy wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside, immediately likening the musty odour of the place to Giles’ library with its ancient books that she, Willow and Xander handled during their Sunnydale days. Dean led the way and Buffy had given up minding this since she suspected he’d break something if he had to give up his pack leader status. Meanwhile Sam trailed behind her and Buffy had the sneaking suspicion they were flanking her because she was the girl in their trio. 

_Men_ , she thought to herself. 

"If if someone tries to sell you something that can’t be fed after midnight, can’t be exposed to sunlight or can’t get wet, say _no_. I don’t care how cute it is.” He winked at Buffy. 

Buffy was having none of that. "Hey if I see one of those cute little critters in here, I am _so_ buying it." She flashed him her brightest smile. Behind her, she heard Sam snigger while Dean rolled his eyes and continued forward.

"Well if there's a cursed artefact to find in town," Sam said leaning forward to say quietly in her ear, "this would be the place."

“No kidding,” Buffy agreed by just the sheer number of bric-à-brac on the shelves. They all looked old and exotic. Never a good combination, she thought. 

"Can I help you?" A heavily accented voice asked. 

The man who stood in front of them was in his sixties and Dean swore that if Death had a brother, this guy would be it. He had the same dour features, the long straight nose, dark eyes and hollow cheeks. Instead of wearing his hair long like the Horseman, this man's hair greying was cropped short against his scalp and he wore a knitted sweater vest over a white shirt and dark slacks. 

"We're with the FBI," Dean introduced himself. "We're here tracing the last known whereabouts of two people who died under mysterious circumstances in the last few days. They were seen visiting the store shortly before their deaths."

"Oh yes," the man answered nodding, "but I have already spoken to the police." 

“Well we have some follow up questions,” Dean lied and gestured furtively at Buffy and Sam to check out the store while he distracted the owner with questions. 

Taking his cue as Dean launched into his performance as FBI Agent Hammert, Buffy and Sam took the opportunity to browse the store, in search of something that might have caused Warren Benson and Bob Sherman’s death. They walked down the aisles flanked by statues, display cabinets and pieces of old furniture, including a spinning wheel and what look like a butter churn. 

“Any idea what we’re looking for?” Buffy asked Sam. “It’s been three years since I’ve done this so I’m out of practice.” 

“That’s how long you’ve been retired?” Sam looked back at her from his survey of the store’s merchandise. He was fascinated by the fact that the Buffy had been able to turn her back on the life and start a new one, devoid of monsters, demons and mayhem. Sam had tried doing it this year when Dean had been languishing in Purgatory but it never took, even though he had really, really wanted it to. Even now, he still missed Amelia even though he knew she was better off with her husband. 

“Yeah,” Buffy shrugged it off as no big deal but really it was. She let her fingers grazed across the spines of the books on a shelf as she walked by. “Just decided one day that I need to get on with my life. I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen and I realised if I didn’t start living, I _never_ would. What about you?” She asked, pausing as they reached a juncture and she spotted a table filled with ornaments. “You ever think about giving this up?” 

“I do,” Sam admitted, “I tried it but I couldn’t stay away for long. I’m too used to riding shotgun with Dean. He’s made for this life, I’m not.” He paused suddenly, realising that perhaps this was information Dean would not want Buffy to know about him, at least not without telling her himself. “Well I’m sure Dean would quit if there was a good enough reason…” he added immediately. 

Buffy chuckled, recognising the obvious attempt to protect his brother and allayed his concern. “It’s okay, I kind of guessed that already. I don’t mind. He is good at it and I like that it’s not just the rush but the need to help people. Faith, the other slayers who’s been around as long as me, she’s a lot like Dean. She loves the fight.” 

“So does Dean,” Sam agreed, “he’s the best hunter I know. Better than my dad but you didn’t hear me say that.” It was true. Dad was obsessed, single-minded but he was reckless. Dean was not. Dean never sacrificed the people he was with for the easy kill nor did he shield them either. By just those two traits, Dean was light years ahead of John Winchester. 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Buffy assured him before picking up an ornately designed cube no bigger than her palm and casually examined it. “Dean says that you two have been doing this since you were kids, is that true?” She knew Dean had a tendency to let his ego embellish some of the facts he’d told her but even she couldn’t imagine starting off so young in this life. At least she had some semblance of a childhood before she was called to be Chosen One. 

Sam was skimming a shelf full of old books, mostly first editions and leather bound copies of books that varied in value when he looked over his shoulder at her. “Pretty much. After mom died, dad was obsessed. He was determined that we were safe above all else. Safe and normal life didn’t mix as far as he was concerned. 

“That’s tough,” she commented, still playing with the cube which she had determined to be some kind of puzzle box though she hadn’t determine the configuration to open it yet. “Damn, I thought I had it that time.” 

“Well we’ve helped a lot of people,” Sam said straightening up and turning back to her, noting her interest in the thing she was hoping. “Here, let me show you,” he took the thing from her and examined it. 

“I’ll bet you’ll figure it out in a second,” she pouted. 

“Never happen,” Sam replied, liking this girl and seeing now why Dean was so taken with her, especially since this was the first female Dean had shown a more than passing interest in.

“Oh please, you got genius guy all over you.” She insisted, looking at the other objects on the shelves. Some of them were seriously ugly, she thought. 

“I’m not a genius,” Sam protested and deciphering it fairly quickly once he noted that the darker lines of the exotic design concealed the segments the cube was cut into. “See, you got to turn it about in a certain way to open it,” he explained turning the segments this way and that for a few seconds and then finally, pushing down on the circular design that sat on top. Upon doing that, the cube opened like a flower. 

It revealed a small compartment. The metallic scrape of a clockwork mechanism could be heard as the figurine in the middle of compartment began to dance. The figure looked ancient, resembling a fertility statue with a mishappen body and exaggerated sex organs. Its silent dance was somewhat eerie. 

“The music part must be broken,” Buffy remarked coming back to take a look and thinking that the dance didn’t look so much as graceful as it appeared vulgar.

“Yeah,” Sam replied studying the thing closer, “the mechanism must get wound up when you make the correct sequence of movements to open it.” He offered it back to her so that she could look. 

Buffy took it in her hand and looked at it before saying to Sam. “See, you are a genius.” 

He laughed softly and for a moment Buffy stared at him making Sam uncomfortable. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she shook off the observation and then added, “You remind me of someone.” 

It had occurred to Buffy then that Sam’s mannerisms reminded her a lot of Angel. He possessed Angel’s quiet but studious personality. He was probably just as capable as his brother in this gig but you’d never know it by just looking at it because Sam Winchester was all about subtlety. He was the one you’d never see coming because no one expected the nice guys to have the worst demons. Which was case in point with Angel.   
“Hey, you guys find anything?” Dean’s voice interrupted the moment and Buffy forgot all about Angel and put the cube down again. 

“Nothing except ugly puzzle boxes?” Buffy said staring at Dean. “You?” 

“Well both of them were here,” Dean confirmed. “Benson and his fiancée, Sherman and his kid. Diane bought some vase and Sherman bought a brooch for his wife for her birthday. Benson took his vase but Sherman’s brooch is still here. I think this is place is what connects them but not necessarily what they bought here. I say we come back tonight,” he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, “and give the place a real once over.” 

“Wow, my dream come true,” Buffy retorted. “Breaking into a mall after hours.” 

Dean shook his head, _women_.


	7. Chapter 7

"This is it," Buffy announced to Sam and Dean when she stepped through the front door of her Sibleyville home a short time after they'd left the antique store.

It was still mid afternoon and the store wouldn't be closing for a few hours yet. Until that time, there was little else to be done so Buffy invited Dean and his brother home so that she could get a shower and banish her suit back to the closet from whence it came. Besides, she grown fond of both men, albeit in two very different ways and hated the idea that they would be stuck in that seedy little motel room for the rest of the day.

Also, she noticed Sam's condition even though she was reluctant to approach either about it even though it was plain something was wrong with the younger Winchester. He looked exhausted on every occasion that she'd met him and it was telling that Dean seemed to avoid that obvious subject.

Whatever the reason for his silence, Buffy wanted dinner. She wanted fresh clothes, something more appropriate for breaking and entering into an antique store. Funny, how that sounded cool at sixteen and now it just felt wrong. Yet when it came to slaying, there was never any moral dilemma as to how she would keep the two parts of her world separate. There was just the task at hand. Buffy knew what she risked if she was caught especially now that she was in teaching. However, it didn't matter as much as stopping whatever evil that was running loose in her city.

"Hey nice place," Dean complimented as he and Sam followed her into the house after leaving the Impala parked in the long driveway leading to the locked garage door. Buffy’s home was a single story brick house of modest size, painted in ash blue while the window and door frames were painted white. It had had bay windows on either side of the four panel glass and arch door that emptied into a small covered patio which she’d adorned with hanging flower pots. 

The interior of the house was designed with half wall paneling in white, while the other half was a mild purple color that women probably referred to as called Berry or something, Dean thought. The living room contained a comfortable looking taupe sofa set arranged across a coca colored that matched the parquet floor. The ensemble sat in front of an impressive entertainment system and was surrounded by white shelves, in a design Dean knew form watching the Lifestyles of the Rich and Pointless, was called Cape Cod. 

“You got a thing for funky art?” he asked looking at some of the exotic statues and masks on the wall.

“They’re my mom’s,” Buffy explained. “She used to run a gallery. Some of these pieces are hers. She put a lot of work into that place and I didn’t want to get rid of them.”

Dean could understand that. He maintained the Impala to ensure she was in pristine condition at all times. It was Dad's car and was almost a big a part of his family as Sam. 

And it gave better mileage.

“I like your Klimt prints,” Sam added, observing the Tree of Life and the Kiss hanging on the walls. Sam recognised the paintinggs from the art books belonging to Jesse who majored in art at Stamford.

“Thanks,” Buffy answered, “I don’t know much about art but I always like those. They’re pretty.”

Closing the door behind her, she crossed the living room floor and sang out to the two. “Make yourselves comfortable boys. I'm getting out this Mormon suit," she made a beeline towards her bedroom

"Need help?" Dean quipped, unable to resist asking, a teasing smirk on his face. 

"Grow up, dick," Sam retorted, swatting Dean across the shoulder with the back of his hand and spoke in a more mature tone. "Thank you Buffy." He said gratefully. "This is a lot nicer than hanging around the motel watching Dean’s continuing addiction to magic fingers.”

“Hey!" Dean shoved him back. "It’s a pure love." He grumbled.

"I don't want to know," she laughed enjoying the two of them messing with each other. It reminded her of the camaraderie she used to share with Willow and Xander. "Make sure you take a load off and I mean you SAM WINCHESTER. You look like you could use it."

With that order given and it _was_ an order as far as Buffy was concerned, she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving them to their own devices.

"You heard what she said," Dean voicing his approval of the order and shoved Sam onto the plush sofa. Sam sank into a bit and Dean saw the air expel from his lungs as he relaxed. "Take a load of while I see what she's got to drink in the fridge. Knowing a chick, it’s probably some fruit mixer. She doesn't look like the beer type." Oh well, Dean thought to himself. Nobody was perfect.

Sam didn't disobey because he was tired. He'd been trying to hide how badly he was feeling but Buffy's comment indicated that she'd seen it too and that would not make Dean happy. Still however, bad they thought he was, in truth Sam knew he was _worse_. Sam was aware that his brother was already worried about him, not to mention guilty as hell that he wasn't doing the trials instead. If he knew how badly Sam was feeling, he'd insist on Sam stopping and the younger Winchester wasn't ready to do that yet.

Looking around while he waited for Dean to come back from rummaging inside Buffy's fridge, he caught sight of the picture frame on the coffee table. The photograph was of a sixteen year old Buffy in a cheerleader outfit with two friends, a sweet looking redhead and a dark haired boy. It was hard to imagine that this cute little blond and her Scoobies, as Buffy called them, were killing vampires when this picture was taken.

Dean returned a minute later with bottle of Coke for himself and some juice for Sam. "Drink this up." Dean saw handed him the glass, using the same tone he used when he was making Sammy brush his teeth and wash behind his ears when they were kids.

Exchanging the glass for the picture frame, Sam retorted. "Here, all your dreams come true. Your dream girl in a cheerleader's outfit."

"Give me that," Dean growled at the mention of Buffy being his dream girl and looked at the picture of a fifteen year old Buffy, appearing so fucking sweet it actually hurt to look at her. She was good enough to eat. "Damn, she really had a nice pair of.... uh pom poms." Dean sighed and then wondered out loud wistfully, "I wonder if she still has her costume."

Sam was in mid swallow when he saw the expression on his brother's face and lowered his glass, looking at Dean meaningfully. "You really like her don't you?"

" _Nooo_ ," Dean protested just a little quickly and then added, "Look she's hot but she's just another girl okay? We'll be skipping town as soon as this job is done so its not like there's going to be anything more."

"Why not?" Sam questioned, finding that was no excuse anymore. "It doesn't have to be that way Dean. I mean we're more of less living in the bunker at Lebanon. That's not too far away from Lawrence besides..." he started to say more than ground himself to a halt when he realized what he had almost inadvertently revealed.

"Besides what?" Dean demanded suspiciously, certain what remained unspoken had nothing to do with Buffy. Sam was on the verge of saying something important; Dean could tell by the way he quickly disengaged from their verbal sparing that he had almost let something slip.

Knowing that look well enough, Sam knew Dean would continue to hound him until he gave it up. Reluctantly he answered; "If anything happens to me when the trials are done, I don't want you be alone."

" _Stop_." Dean stated so sharply it almost drew blood. "We are not talking about this. Do you hear me? I don't want to hear you saying that you’re going to die. This is not the time or place to have that conversation."

"Then _when_ Dean?" Sam countered. Dean’s stubbornness could sometimes border on obstinacy and Sam was not about to let this go yet. “When its too late? Come on Dean, we always leave it to the end to say the important stuff and most time, we never get the chance to do it right. If I can't have a normal life because of these trials, I want you to be able to. God, if Buffy can do it, so can you. This can't be all we're about."

Dean turned away, staring out of the window, seeing the world outside the bay windows. The neighborhood kids were playing outside on their lawns. Some were cycling down the path while others were playing Frisbee with their dogs. Parents were coming from work, the grocery stores or were watering and mowing lawns. The business of life was taking place all around them and they’d never really been a part of it. Not since Yellow Eyes torched their mother and destroyed their father.

Separated from the world by a sheet of glass was the perfect metaphor for the Winchester existence.

****

Oblivious to the serious matters being discussed in her living room, Buffy discarded her suit and decided the boys would be alright on their own while she grabbed a shower. Stepping into the bathroom, she disrobed and turned on the water, allowing the hot spray go run for a few seconds before closing the glass door behind her after she stepped into the cubicle of blue-green tiles. 

She stood under the hot water, letting it soaked into her hair and run down her back. It felt good after the day she’d had. It wasn’t so much physically exhausting as it was mentally. Terry Sherman and her family’s loss had affected Buffy more than she cared to admit and she wondered what shape Diane Lee had been in when Dean and Sam spoke to her. She couldn’t ignore the fact that she had completely missed the presence of a supernatural threat in Lawrence until two civilians had arrived in their black Impala to remind her that she’d dropped the ball in her new home town.

Not for the first time since meeting Dean Winchester, she wondered whether she had been selfish about walking away from the life. There were people who still needed help; the danger didn’t stop because she wanted a normal life. Assuming Faith and the baby slayers would take care of the things was an excuse. Where was Faith when Bob Sherman and Warren Benson were being murdered? Where was she? Dean and Sam who were ordinary people driven to a nomadic existence, with no powers, no Watcher Council to hold their hand, compelled to help people because they believed no one else could do it.

She pondered these thoughts as she showered. After washing and conditioning her hair, Buffy basked in the sweet scent of strawberry essence soap, relishing in the sensation of warm water against her skin. _Nothing bad could go wrong when you have clean hair_ , she told herself. Closing her eyes, she meditated under the stream of hot water, aware that she’d have to get out soon because she had guests and also because she’d start to prune.

Then suddenly, without warning, she was surprised by the sensation of a hard male body pressing up against her back. Her first reaction was to elbow Dean Winchester in the gut for his presumption. _Really? While his brother was in the house?_ The guy was cute but he was also a pig. Did he think that surprising her in the shower like this was going to get him laid? Even if it had been one year, three months and six days since she'd had sex. 

Not that she was counting. 

“Are you kidding me?” She exclaimed, feigning outrage as she started to turn around in order to face him. He pre-empted her movement by sliding around her waist and pulling her harder against. The small of her back scraped against the slippery texture of wet fabric. _He was still wearing his pants_ , she thought fleetingly. _Thank God._ Still the sensation of hard muscle against her back was tantalising, even more so when his lips began planting soft, delicate kisses along her shoulder, following the trail up the curve of her neck. 

Despite herself, she let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure that melted into a soft sigh as her traitorous body reacted to his expert touch and after a moment, Buffy wondered why the hell she was resisting. She was a consenting adult after all. Still she didn't want to seem to eager. 

“You know, you really are a total pig.” she replied in a breathy whisper, her half hearted protest ending with her reaching for his hand, while his brushed aside the wet locks of hair so he could have greater access to her skin to ply her neck with those maddening kisses. 

_“Hey Counsellor, Sam and I figured we go Chinese…you okay with that?”_

It was Dean but his voice coming from the other side of her bathroom door.

Buffy stiffened immediately and turn around so fast, she almost slipped on the tiles. An arm caught her arm before she fell and Buffy lifted her gaze to stare into eyes she knew and hated that so often visited her in nightmares. 

“Hello Slayer,” Angelus smiled at her, “Together again.”

**** 

Dean had entered her room a minute earlier after knocking on her bedroom door and receiving no answer. Turning the door knob, he risked taking a peek through the crack of her bedroom door to see that she had stepped into the shower. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was hissing steam through the door jam. Instead of retreating, Dean's curiosity got the better of him and he stole a moment to check out her bedroom. He tested the mattress of her double bed and grinned mischievously when the springs creaked. _Nice,_ he thought as purely sinful thoughts ran across his mind about how this could be achieved. 

Moving away from the bed, he examined with interest the photograph in frames on her bedside table, there was one of another blond cutie whom Dean assumed to be Buffy’s sister Dawn by the family resemblance. Next to it, in a silver frame was a photograph of an elegantly lovely woman he guessed was Buffy's mother. Studying Joyce Summers, it was no surprise where Buffy and Dawn got their looks. Leaving her bedside table, he wandered over to her dressing table and absently picked up a bottle of perfume. Taking the off the lid of the blue bottle marked BLV, Dean took an experimental sniff and breathed in the scent he now associated exclusively with her.

It was very much a girl's bedroom but he liked it, it gave him some insight into her personality. Even if she killed monsters and vampires, she was unashamedly feminine. He liked that she didn't to play at being male like some women tended to do when they were competing against men. As if giving up their femininity was the sacrifice they had to make to be considered as good. That was not a sacrifice he’d expect any woman to make and any guy who did, was a complete douchebag with self-esteem issues. 

Which was definitely _not_ him. 

Deciding that his observations of her bedroom were starting to border on pervy, Dean got on with what he had come into the room for in the first place. Standing at the bathroom door, he sang out to her. 

"Hey Counsellor, Sam and I figured we go Chinese...you okay with that?"

His answer was a crash so loud and sudden that Dean jumped back startled. However, his shock lasted but for a second because soon after, he heard more glass breaking and that propelled him towards the door again. Reaching for the knob to yank it open, he turned it quickly only to find that it was refusing to open. It was either locked or jammed. Dean didn’t know which and frankly he didn't really care. It was bad enough he could hear the sounds of violence on the other side of the door, the slapping of flesh against tiles. 

"What the hell Dean?" Sam demanded as he burst into Buffy's bedroom just as Dean kicked in the bathroom door. 

The lock was torn away from the wooden door, leaving ripped splinters clinging to the frame. It swung forward and Dean was through it immediately, entering the small space of Buffy's bathroom to find her inside the shower cubicle with a half dressed man. He arrived just in time to see the bastard smash Buffy's face against the wall so hard, it left a smear of blood across the tiles for an instant before being washed away by the running water. Buffy was already wearing a gash across her forehead and more blood ran down her face from beneath her hair. 

"Let ther go you son of a bitch!" Dean bellowed as he saw Buffy being manhandled. She looked disorientated and struggling to regain her senses. _Where the fuck had he come from?_ Dean wondered fleetingly. 

Upon seeing Dean, Buffy's attacked looked up at him and grinned. "You went human this time baby? That makes it so much easier to snap his neck or maybe I'll do you solid and maintain your track record by turning him. You have a thing for vamps don't you?"

Laughing, he flung Buffy through the glass door, using her body to shatter it completely and sending her straight into the ceramic bathroom sink. Dean rushed to intercept but he couldn't quite reach her in time and his stomach hollowed hearing the terrible crack her head made when it hit the edge of the sink. 

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Dean shouted and went for the vampire. 

Sam had disappeared when Dean broke into the room because neither of them were armed. He raced to the Impala to get weaponized before returning to see Dean going after the vampire. 

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying to stop him from rushing in recklessly. Sam knew what his brother was like when enraged. Seeing the girl he cared for bloody and battered would certainly send Dean into murderous fury that would compromise his judgement. 

Dean ignored him. 

"Get Buffy!" He ordered his brother as he slammed his body into Angelus who was trying to step through the remnants of the broken shower door. His full weight shoved the vampire against the tile wall, the hot spray of water rushing over them both. Dean wasted no time in going on the offensive. He threw an elbow into the vampire's face, following with left right punch across the fucker's jaw, wanting to remove the smug sneer he’d worn when he threw Buffy about like trash. 

Angelus fended off the blows easily, his head snapping left to right before facing front again, the same smile stealing across his face, infuriating Dean even further. "You going to have to do better than that," he retorted prompting to Dean to throw another punch. Except this time the vamp caught his fist and threw one of his own blows. Angelus flung Dean back into opposite wall, the back of his head hitting the tile wall. He threw another punch across Dean’s jaw and it felt like being hit with a sledgehammer. Dean felt his mouth filling with blood. Another punch came at him but this time; he’d recovered enough to block it and retaliated by kicking Angelus in the gut. The slippery floor caused Angelus to slide out of the cubicle. 

He crashed against the bathroom sink and Dean snatched up the ceramic cistern cover of the toilet and smashed it against the vampire's skull. Pieces of ceramic crumbled around their feet and Dean punched him again, intending to beat the son of a bitch into submission until he figured out a way to end him permanently. Dean swung again but this time, Angelus sidestepped him at the last minute, upsetting his balance and allowing the vampire to get behind him. Angelus did not waste the advantage and slammed Dean's head against the bathroom mirror. The glass cracked beneath his forehead and Dean felt warm blood running down his face. 

Dazed, Dean tried to recover but his opponent was giving him no chance for that. Taking avantage of his disorientation, Angelus spun the hunter around and clamped his fingers around Dean's throat, hoisting him off the wet floor with ease. 

“You're good in a fight” Angelus complimented, "Maybe one of the best I've had to deal with in the last two hundred years but you're still a fragile human when its all said and done." He tightened his fingers even more until Dean could start to feel the skin of his neck starting to bleed and he could barely get a breath out. Any more of this and he was going to pass out. 

"Dean!" Sam shouted entering the bathroom and seeing his brother at the mercy of the vampire he had been told was called Angelus. Pulling out Ruby’s knife, he prepared to plunge the blade into Angelus when the vampire flung Dean at him like his older brother was a rag doll. Both men tumbled out the bathroom door, landing just past the doorway. 

Dean was still gaspinng for air when Sam rolled over to him and asked frantically “Dean, are you okay?” 

Coughing hard and struggling to breathe, Dean attempted to choke out a few strangled words, “Buh...Buf…” 

“Buffy?” Sam finally got what he was trying to stay. “She’s…” 

“ _…Fine._ ” Buffy spoke for herself, eyes fixed on Angelus. 

Dean had seen killers with kinder eyes. 

Now wearing a robe, Buffy had recovered after Sam had taken her out of her ruined bathroom in time to hear Dean battling it out with the bane of her existence, the monster that never seemed to die. He’d taken her by surprise in the bathroom, getting the upper hand because she was rusty and because he was wearing Angel’s face, the one person in the world who could always throw her off balance. Buffy was shaking off her disorientation when Sam left to go help Dean whom she knew couldn’t last for too long without a weapon against a vampire of Angelus’ calibre.

Angelus emerged from the door, surveying the situation and immediately resting his eyes on her. “Well looks like your new puppy has got a bit of teeth to him Buffy. When I’m done with you I’m going to pull everyone of them out.”  
“Like hell you will,” Buffy retorted and ran at him.

He blocked her first blow but not her second. Buffy delivered a powerful right hook and when he dodged it, switched to a sharp upper cut that caught him beneath the chin. When his eye contact was broken, she lashed out with a front kick that struck him on the side of his jaw. Angelus retaliated with as much ferocity, throwing a side kick that struck Buffy’s side. She felt a rib snap but it was not enough to slow her down. 

She delivered a punch to his stomach, forcing him to double over before she fisted her hands and brought it down on his back. At the same time, she brought up her knee, smashing it in the centre of his chest. Grabbing his arm, she flung him into the corner of the room and pummelled him with strike after strike, fury driving her extraordinary speed so that it was impossible for him to fend all of them off.

Each blow she delivered to the face that belonged to Angel made her want to scream in fury. How many times did she have to do this? How many times would he keep coming back and inflicting wounds that were never as bad physically as they were emotionally? It was never about the pain with him, just the torment. Even now, when she’d met Dean, someone she’d _really_ liked, he had surfaced again to blight that relationship before it even had a chance to begin.

“GET....OUT...OF...MY....LIFE...YOU...SADISTIC…BASTARD!” She screamed, punctuating each word with every punch she delivered until Angelus’ knees buckled; his face turning into ruined flesh. All the while, even when he was bleeding, he was gloating at her with that hateful sneer, like he’d still won even though she was the one pounding him into pulp.

“Buffy, catch!” She heard Sam’s voice call out from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the younger Winchester toss her a knife which she caught with one hand.

“It’s a demon knife!” He told her. 

She had no idea what that meant but if he believed that it was kill a vampire, she'd use it. Without giving Angelus the chance to say any other hateful thing, she plunged the blade into his chest, driving it as far as it would go, until only the hilt protruded from his body.

No sooner than the blade had sliced through his heart, the body of Angelus disappeared in a burst of ash but it was only Angel she saw dissipating into nothingness. She let go of the knife, letting it fall against the floor in loud thud. She exhaled a shuddering breath and sank to her knees, staring stared at the pile of ash before she cried a furious scream of outrage that made both Dean and Sam jump at the anguish and pain behind it.

Years ago, she learned Angel had died in Los Angeles. She was sure she had felt him die because her heart broke all over again. For the second time in her life, she had wept for him, wept for the tragedy that was their love for each other. It had never felt wrong but it was never right either. It took so long for the wound he’d left behind to heal and now in a matter of minutes, the demon Angelus had ripped it bloody again.  
She didn’t know when she started sobbing but she did.

Confused by her reaction, Sam was about to speak but Dean gestured for him to remain silent. Body still aching, he pulled away from Sam and crawled up alongside of her. He didn’t know what exactly had gone on between her and that vamp but the personal way the son of a bitch had attacked, told Dean enough.   
He recognized the familiar anguish of being pushed to breaking point. When she'd gone after the guy and pounded him bloody (how hot was that), Dean could see her pain was more that was as profound as any he had suffered and that she was just as wounded as him. Dean had been where she was now so many times before he could barely keep count. By the looks of her right now, so had she.

Dean tugged her gently towards him. When her tear stained eyes met his, he felt his heart melt in his chest. He’d never thought her tears could feel like a knife in the chest but it did. He didn’t understand why he felt this connection to her, why seeing her smile could light up his heart the way his mom used to do when she tucked him into bed and told him that angels were watching. All he knew was he couldn’t stand to see her cry and not do anything about it.

“Come on Counsellor,” Dean said softly, his throat burned and his voice hoarse but he forced himself to speak. “Come on.”

Buffy needed no more prompting than that, bursting into tears as she buried her face in his shoulder. Dean wrapped him arms around and let her cry, holding her because she needed him to.


	8. Chapter 8

“I was sixteen when I met him,” Buffy said softly, lying against Dean on the sofa an hour later.

They’d patched each other up, gotten fresh clothes out of the Impala and ordered Chinese food. Dean had insisted he and Sam stay the night and Buffy did not protest. After what had happened with Angelus, she was unafraid to admit she was shaken and could use the company.

Dean Winchester had also revealed yet another layer to his personality Buffy had not expected. The care in which he handled her after the emotionally devastating experience of facing Angelus again, was revelation. There was none of the earlier sexual innuendo or cocky advances that was so much of their banter. Instead, he did his best to be tender and mindful of her feelings as he treated her wounds and held back his questions about who Angelus was to her. 

It was tenderness she needed badly because even after all this time, she was still susceptible to Angelus’ vicious mind games. All it took was for her to see his face and she was transported back to her seventeenth birthday when Angel had taken virginity only to have Angelus spit it back at her. In the shower, she had thought he was Dean and the thrill of something exciting between them had become another cruel joke. A decade later and Angelus could still leave behind wounds that not even her slayer abilities could heal.

When Buffy came back to his arms, it felt to Dean like the most natural thing in the world, that maybe he’d been waiting his whole life for a girl to fit so perfectly there. Her sadness prompted a fierce desire in him to protect her not only because she needed it but also because Dean understood her in a way he never understood any woman in his whole life. Perhaps even more than Lisa Braeden whom he’d really thought he loved. 

However, with Buffy it was different. 

Dean _got_ Buffy. He got what made her tick, what made her walk away and he understood without her having to explain, though she did, what was between her and Angelus. Dean recognised that they were both warriors who could defend against most attacks except the ones to the heart that seem to cut them the deepest. 

Sam said nothing as he lay sprawled on the arm chair next them, his long frame accommodated by the ottoman beneath his feet. Sam seemed to be watching with interest though he made no comment. It was as if he realised that his thing between Buffy and him was still fragile and could collapse under scrutiny. Furthermore, Dean could have sworn that saw a glimmer in Sam’s eyes of what could be contentment, like his plan to ensure Dean didn’t end up alone, was moving according to plan.

Dean wasn't admitting to anything but he did like holding Buffy and being the guy she felt comfortable enough with to show her vulnerability. Perhaps Dean might return the favour someday. 

“Angelus?” Sam asked.

“No,” Buffy replied, shaking her head. “When I met him, he called himself Angel. I didn’t know that he was a vampire when I first met him. I found out later.” Her eyes glazed over a second, remembering when she’d found out, what a hammer punch to the gut it had been. She’d probably knew she was in love with him before that but finding out had never made her hate vampires more.

Even without saying it, Dean understood what ‘later’ meant. After she started to care about the guy, after she _loved_ him. A few years ago, knowing that she’d loved a vampire would have freaked him the hell right out. However, he’d spent a year in Purgatory with a vampire who had saved his ass more times than he’d thought possible. If it wasn’t for Benny, Dean would still be stuck in Purgatory.  It easy to say that Benny only watched Dean’s back for his own ends but Dean was certain that the vampire had considered him a friend. Certainly when they’d escaped, Benny had said so instead of trying to take a bite out of him.

Buffy went on to relate the tale of how Angel had been Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, how for two hundred years, his savagery was the stuff of legend, even among vampires until a curse had brought all that to an end. The soul of the human who had owned the body had been forced back into that sinful vessel to endure the consequences for the demon’s actions. And that hadn’t even been the worst part of the curse. It was stunning in its cruelty, Dean thought and he found himself feeling for this Angel who was forced to pay penance for crimes he hadn’t really committed.

By the time she was done telling her story, Buffy felt raw and hollowed out. After all these years, it infuriated her that Angelus could still play havoc with her emotions, even after Angel was gone and she had moved on. A part of her would always remember what it was like to be that sixteen year old girl who loved so hard that it burned the heart out of her and another part wished she’d never met Angel in the first place.

“That’s rough,” Sam spoke first, uncertain how else to put it. “And he died in Los Angeles? You’re certain of it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Buffy answered, remembering the aftermath of the Wolfram and Hart battle. The only one left standing had been the demon Illyria and she had since crossed over to her home dimension. Angel and Spike had both been killed, turned to dust. Even if there wasn’t the eye witness account, Buffy knew it was true; she’d dreamt it. Her Slayer abilities gave her some prescience in dreams and occasionally warned her of danger. In this instance, it had allowed her to see Angel’s last moments. He had died fighting and when he met his end; the thread between them severed for good.

“So this can’t be him,” Sam stated. "If he died the way he did in your shower, then there was no body left." In the last few years, he and Dean had encountered an odd number of vampires who _could_ be killed by a wooden stake, who could not move in sunlight at all and burst into balls of ash upon death. Bobby had believed that vampires like humans could evolve and this particular line seemed more vulnerable but they bred more. It wasn't much of a trade-off.

“Sammy’s right,” Dean agreed, his voice still hoarse. He shifted slightly on the sofa and it resulted in Buffy sidling closer against him and outcome he did not at all find unpleasant. "This had to be a shifter to be able to look like this guy or something else that can change appearance. Maybe a doppelganger maybe but they’re usually spirits and the demon knife would have done jack to it."

Silently, Buffy marvelled at how Dean and Sam speculated on the creature that had attacked her tonight. Like conversations like this was all the norm for them. In the past, Buffy had not believed normal humans were capable of handling themselves against the monsters in the dark but Sam and Dean challenged that perception with each passing moment. Not only were they versed on the lore, impressive when one considered that they and other hunters like them had compiled this information with no help from the Watcher Council. However Dean proved that with an appropriate weapon, he could hold his own against vampires and demons. She had no doubt that Sam was similarly skilled.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Dean added, "this coming so soon after Benson get mauled by some nasty and Sherman gets turned into bug food and now Buffy sees her worst fucking nightmare…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam sat up straighter at Dean's comment, his formidable intellect fully processing at that chance statement. As Dean and Buffy stared at him in expectation, Sam held up a hand for them to hold on while he processed the idea that had come to him to its natural conclusion. "Maybe's _that's_ the connection," he declared.

"What's the connection?" Dean demanded, familiar with the sudden spark in Sam's eyes that usually told him that something in that shaggy coconut of his brother's had connected the dots from A to Z.

Sam leaned forward in his chair. “Maybe it’s not a shape shifter, maybe it’s something that can take on the shape of things that scares us. I mean how else would it know about Angelus and then have him just appear in your house? A vampire would need an invite in."

“But what about Benson and Sherman?" Buffy asked, lifting her head out of Dean's shoulder enough to look at Sam. “This thing just showed up and killed them?”  

"I’m guessing yes. I mean it’s clear that the antique store figures into this. Shortly after being there, they both get confronted by some aspect of their fears," Sam explained, "but unlike you, they didn't know how to fight back and got killed."

It made sense. As much as Angelus scared her, she also hated him with a passion that no one could ever understand. She hated that he wore Angel's face when he inflicted savage hurt on his victims. People thought her hatred of him was because of what he had done to her and her friends but it was the fact that he was wearing Angel's face while doing it. Each time they faced each other, she just wanted to rip that visage to pieces so the demon would wear its true face, not the mask of her former love.

“The first thing we do tomorrow is talk to the families again,” Dean declared seeing that this was the obvious next step. "Sammy and I will get Warren Benson and Counsellor, you should talk to Terry Sherman. I think you two had some kind of chick flick moment going, so she might be more willing to talk to you then me and Gigantor here."

"Thanks," Sam made a face at him.

Buffy smiled faintly but Dean’s description aside, she did feel she had established a rapport of trust with the grieving widow that might help her to get the information needed on Terry Sherman’s husband.  “So we’re talking about fears, phobias or anything that gives these people the wiggins so we can narrow down our creature feature?”

"In a nutshell sweetheart," Dean winked, regaining some of his earlier cockiness.

It was a solid plan of attack. While it was simple enough to go after the thing in the antique shop right away, without an idea of what they were dealing with they could inadvertently let the thing escape by playing their hand too soon. It was clear the monster was going nowhere and only starting to rack up its body count.

As Buffy considered this, Dean nodded at Sam slightly, giving his brother the signal to give him and Buffy some privacy.  Sam rolled his eyes but offered no verbal protest, aware that Dean probably wanted to ask Buffy more about this Angel guy and it would probably be better served if he wasn’t around. Besides, Dean not behaving like a dick trying to get into the girl’s pants was a clear indication that his brother was seeing Buffy as more than just another extra in a Porky’s film.   

“Well if we’re not doing the antique store tonight,” Sam said standing up for the arm chair, “I’m gonna bail and get some shut eye.   Thanks again for the room Buffy," he smiled at her, genuinely grateful for being able to sleep on a bed that wasn’t being rented out by the _hour_.

“No problem,” Buffy replied, making no effort to get to her feet since she’d already shown him the room earlier and put out the additional linen needed.  

Buffy waited until Sam had gone before she raised her head so that she could look Dean in the eye, “Thank you Dean. Thank you for being here. I know we just met and all…”

“Counsellor,” he stopped her there, “I get it. Old boyfriends can rip you a new one and it’s even worse when it’s some asshole wearing your boyfriend’s face.”  He said with typical Dean Winchester tact.  He paused a moment and then asked in a less confronting tone, “you gonna be alright?”

“I will,” Buffy sighed with a slight nod. “I’m always a little wigged out after dealing with him. I hate it that after all these years, he still gets to me.”

“Hey they say the first ones are hardest to get over,” Dean remarked and then held her gaze, needing it answered for himself that she was actually over this Angel guy. He liked her a hell of a lot but he wasn’t anyone’s rebound.

Buffy was astute enough to recognise the ulterior motive in his comment and smiled faintly, flattered by the desire to question her lingering feelings for Angel. “I’m over him but I can’t forget I cared about him and seeing Angelus just pisses me off.”

“I can relate,” Dean replied and went on to explain how it had been for him when Sam had allowed Lucifer to take him as a vessel. Seeing your brother and knowing it was the devil inside him had been nothing less than terrifying for Dean and to this day, he still had nightmares about having surrendered Sammy to his fate. Even though Dean was lucky and he got Sam back eventually, those initial few months even with Lisa consoling him had been hard. 

“God,” Buffy sat up, bracing her elbow against the back of the sofa so that she could look at him, “you think we get some breaks with this job but we don’t. We keep ending up making sacrifices of the people we care about.” 

“It’s twisted is what it is,” Dean agreed frowning, “I’ve given up trying to figure out why and just decided that the only thing that matters is keeping the people I care about safe. Everything else can be worked around that.”

“I like that,” Buffy nodded with approval before saying with a sigh, “I’m going to bed. Are you going to be okay here on the couch?” She asked, realising too late that would probably give him an opening to make some cheesy come on. Still, if he did make the proposition about climbing into bed with her, Buffy wasn’t entirely sure she’d say no after what had happened today.

“It will do for now,” Dean replied, surprising her with his answer. His eyes still glimmered with mischief and he knew she’d be expecting something different so he added, “But I can’t say I will have the same answer the next time you ask me.”

“Who says there’s going to be a next time?” She threw back, matching his playful tone. After where she’d spent the last few hours, Buffy didn’t mind flirting with him again.  It was also telling that despite Angelus’ sudden appearance, Buffy wasn’t too emotionally wrecked to enjoy it.

“Come on Counsellor,” his voice dropped an octave to that maddening tone he had used in the Saloon before the scream from Sherman’s employee had ruined the mood, “I think we both know there will be a next time.”

“You’re just so full of it,” she snorted and turned away but secretly knew he was probably right. 

*****

These days when Sam slept, it was so deep that little could snap him out of it. In the past, he’d get by on five hours sleep, especially when they were moving from job to job and didn’t always have the luxury of sleeping in beds. There had been too many times where he’d slept in the Impala and while it was a large car, it was never made to accommodate his 6’4 frame with ease. Nevertheless, he managed to train his body to get those precious hours so that he’d be somewhat refreshed when he woke up.

Since the trials however, Sam had been doubling those hours in sleep and when Dean didn’t wake him, he’d sometimes triple that time. Worse yet, his sleep was black and dreamless. It was almost as if his brain had to shut down to in order to recoup his strength. To say nothing of the fact that Dean had to shake him awake at times because he couldn’t be roused out of his slumber.

Tonight in Buffy’s spare room, there had been no such difficulty.

He woke up the minute he felt the _pain_.

More than just pain. Agony. It was exquisite in its intensity. So sharp and sudden that he screamed without even being aware that he had made the sound. Sam Winchester tried to sit up in his bed and found that he couldn't because any attempt to move his arms or legs caused such piercing pain he hardly dared to breathe, let alone move further. He could feel warm fluid running down his limbs until he could feel the pregnant drops growing heavy on the underside of him before dripping to the floor. 

The plink, plink, plink sound against stone were like drums in his head.

Amidst the pain, he recognised where he was and the realisation started him screaming again, this time in mindless terror.

_The Cage. He was back in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer._

*******

Dean fell off the sofa when he was awoken by Sam's scream.

The cold fear that struck him at the sound of Sam crying out like that had Dean scrambling towards the hallway without thinking about anything except getting to his brother. He almost collided with Buffy who had emerged from her bedroom in a similar state of haste and any question she might have had was muted by another cry from Sam. Without saying a word, they both ran down the hallway, almost matching each other stride for stride but it was Dean, driven by fear for Sam, who got to the door first.

When he yanked it open, the first thing that hit him was the smell. It felt like he'd stepped into the middle of a volcano. Sulfur, the scent he recognised all his life to be the afterbirth of a demon’s presence, wafted down the hallway through the open door. 

"Watch out!" Buffy shouted, grabbing onto the belt hook of his jeans before he stepped over the threshold into a room that no longer existed. Where there should have been a carpeted floor was a drop to the ground was almost six feet deep and composed purely of concrete, not shaggy blue pile. 

"What the fuck....!" Dean exclaimed and took a second to comprehend what he was seeing.

The bedroom which only this evening looked like it'd been spat out by an Ikea catalogue now resembled the killing floor of an old abattoir. The smell of sulfur was intermingled with the stench of blood, sweat and shit, creating a stomach turning odour that made him cover his hand with his mouth just to keep from gagging. The room was all stone and concrete, with cruelly sharp blades hanging on the wall. They were all rusted and bloody, trailing rivulets of red from where they were positioned. The killing floor was covered in pieces of flesh, denuded bone and viscera, creating an image that would have been appropriate in a verse from Dante’ Inferno. It was bathed in a red glow although where it was radiating from, Dean couldn't say because all he could see was _Sam._

"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, her eyes widening in shock and horror as she saw Sam Winchester, hanging off the floor in the middle of the room. He was being suspended up by sharp hooks that had torn through his arms and legs. For a moment, he looked like a marionette puppet on strings. His blood was running down his arms and his thighs, dribbling onto the floor behind him as if he was being slowly bled to death.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, similarly horrified as he bolted forward, trying to ignore the parallels between this scene and his memories of being tortured in hell. For his crime as a hunter, he’d be strung up in a trap like this, the plaything of torture for every demon who wanted to get its freak on in retaliation for sending their filthy asses to hell. 

Sam stopped screaming when he heard Dean’s voice, trying to decide if this was a hallucination that Lucifer and Michael was taunting him with or that Dean was really here. Sam didn’t care, he would take what he could get, even if it was a fake. Hearing Dean’s voice was enough to calm him down and he struggled to get free, crying out when his attempts to catch a glimpse of Dean made the hooks embedded in his flesh pull harder. 

"Dean! Get me out of here!” He begged. “Please Dean! Help me!"

"Just hang on Sammy!" Dean shouted unable to ignore the desperation in his voice. It shook him to the core hearing his brother cry for him the way Sammy had done when he was a child having nightmares and Dean had to comfort him. "I'm coming!"

Dean didn't notice that Buffy hadn’t following him when he went searching for the rigging that had his brother trussed up like an animal for the slaughter. Sam was freaking out and for good reason; he'd been caged up with Lucifer and Michael, bearing the brunt of their vengeance at being trapped together for all eternity. They'd ripped his soul to shreds for a year, returning him to the world with wounds that not even an angel was able to heal completely.  

 _This is not real, Sam told himself. I'm not in the cage,_ he chanted to himself. _I'm not in the cage._  Struggling to maintain the tenuous control of his composure, Sam told himself that if Dean was here, then he was being attacked by the same creature who had appeared to Buffy as Angelus. 

Dean spotted the handle of the pulley attached to the chains holding Sam against the wall. Like everything else in the place, it was rusted over and appeared like it was the relic of a previous century. He crossed the killing floor, ignoring the blood and underfoot and prayed that none of it belonged to Sam, when something came out of the shadowy stalls and backhanded him with a blow so powerful he flew across the floor to land in a pile of rotting flesh.

"Hello Dean," the face of Adam Milligan stared at him, except Dean knew immediately that this wasn't his dead brother. It was Michael.

"Oh hey Michael," Dean grunted, trying to get up even though his face was burning and he was bleeding from the re-opened wounds inflicted by Angelus earlier. "Love what you guys have done with the place. Could use some paint though."

"Well we were planning to do that with your blood," Michael hissed closing in on him again, the angel's eyes filled with dark hatred at the main culprit for his imprisonment in the pit. "Then we can get back to playing with our favourite pet, right Sam?"

"Dean," Sam grunted, trying to free himself but resulted in tearing his flesh further at each attempt. "Get out of here."

"Oh no Dean can't go yet," Michael said reaching Dean, "Lucifer and I finally get our very own Winchester to pull apart like a fly. You're Lucifer's and Deano here is mine."

Dean tried to get past Michael but the vengeful arch angel was having none of that and threw another punch at Dean before the older Winchester could avoid it. The power and rage behind the blow connected to his jaw, dislodging a tooth and spurting blood from his mouth. Michael’s punch was like a sledgehammer and Dean literally stars. He went sprawling and landed badly. The crack of ribs was hurt and he uttered an involuntary cry of pain when suddenly, he saw something land between Michael and himself.

"Hey," Buffy stood up in front of Michael, "who said you could mess up his pretty face?"

With that, she swung the mace in her hand and smashed it against the side of Michael's skull. Blood splattered across her Buffy’s Tweety Bird pyjama top. Michael staggered backwards and Buffy gave him no quarter, swinging again and putting all her strength into it. The impact of the heavy metal weapon against Michael’s face lifted him off his feet and flung him half way across the room. He landed in the middle of the killing floor with a heavy thud, creating an ugly streak across the blood soaked floor. Taking advantage of Michael’s brief disorientation, Buffy turned away and hurried to Dean.

"Are you okay?" She asked, hauling him to his feet easily.

"That was kind of awesome." Dean declared, aware that he was smiling like a dork, even though he was sure his jaw looked like pulp.

"You get Sam," Buffy ordered, brushing her fingers against his ravaged jaw, "I'll keep him busy." She said turning back to Michael. 

Dean wasn't about to argue with her and when she went to confront Michael, he hurried towards the mechanism holding Sam in place. He winced with each movement as his head throbbed and his body aching thanks to the ribs he knew he’d broken when he landed. "Hold on Sammy!" Dean tried to cry out but his mouth wasn't cooperating and his words escaped him slurred.

Buffy saw Michael get up and though the side of his face was almost caved in, he was still standing. She saw him smile at her, his teeth visible through the torn flesh of his cheek She had no idea what this place was to Sam Winchester but it was worse than anything she'd ever encountered in Sunnydale. Even the Hellmouth hadn't bore the grisly horror of this place.

"A girl," Michael said grinning, blood rushing down his chin, dribbling onto his shirt. "Now that's a real playmate for all eternity. So many things to do, so many places to explore, so many intimate ways for her us to get to know each other." He showed her a long bladed butcher's knife as he approached her.

"Sorry, I don't maim on the first date,"' Buffy retorted and blocked his attempt to stab her before she brought down the mace against his shoulder. 

*******

In the meantime, Dean had managed to lower Sam from the ceiling to the blood soaked floor. The chains holding him suspended rattled as he descended and Dean’s stomach hollowed at the sight of the hooks that had were caught onto Sam’s limbs like he was a slab meat waiting to be carved. As soon as he was down, Dean hurried to him and stopped short as he saw Sam covered in blood, looking almost dead.

"Jesus Sammy," Dean grimaced as he dropped to his knees to free Sam, trying to ignore the blood staining his hand as he remove the sharp hooks penetrating his brother's limbs without causing further damage. “I’ll get you out of these things in a second,” he said trying to assure Sam even though he couldn’t see how he was going to get them off his little brother without causing him more pain.

"Can't be any worse than what you went through," Sam gasped with each stab of fresh pain lancing through him as Dean tried to extricate him from the torture device. He let out a sharp groan of pain when one of the hooks caught, tears of agony running down his face. “I’d forgotten how much fun this place was.” He tried to joke but couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Next time, let’s just go to a strip club for fun,” Dean retorted, tossing aside another hook and repeating the procedure one by one until Sam was completely free of the things. Reaching around Sam’s shoulder, said gently. “Try to stand if you can.” He said trying to help Sam to his feet but it wasn’t easy. The hooks had been driven through muscle tissue to hold Sam’s weight aloft and now that he tried to stand, those same muscles pulsed with fresh blood as he tried to move.  

“We’ll get you help Sammy,” Dean assured him, hiding his horror at his brother’s injuries as they led him towards the entrance to the hallway in Buffy’s home. Somehow, this pocket universe that contained Lucifer’s cage was still tethered to the world they knew by doorway that still remained open.

“Where’s Buffy?” Sam asked as Dean led him across the floor. 

“Tearing Michael a new one,” Dean answered promptly however, he was now craning his neck left and right to see where she was. It didn’t take him long to find her because she was in the middle of the kill floor, battling it out with Michael.  He could only afford to watch her for a second but that second was plenty. When Dean had seen her pummelling Angelus earlier, he knew she could fight but seeing her go toe to toe with Michael was something else to behold. She looked preternatural, a force to be reckoned with that left in silent awe. 

She’d somehow lost her grip on the mace but wasn’t not suffering from the lack of it. She jabbed Michael in the face, causing his head to snap back sharply. Before he had a chance to recover, Buffy threw a flying front kick, once again catching him on his ruined face, driving the angel backwards.  She followed it with a series of left to right punches, giving him no chance to recoup. 

“Come on, we got to get you out of here,” Dean said turning his attention back to the task at hand; getting Sam to safety. Once that was done, he could give Buffy the all clear so she would follow them. 

“Why Dean? We’re finally together again.” A familiar voice said behind them and Dean’s hair stood on end because he knew exactly who it was before Sam said it out loud. 

“Lucifer.”


	9. Chapter 9

At least he didn't look like Sam.

It wasn’t much consolation but Dean didn’t think he could stomach seeing Lucifer in a Sam meat suit. It had been hard enough the first time to see his brother face and know the eyes staring back at him was a monster. Fortunately Lucifer had appeared to them in the body belonging to Nick, the human who had been his temporary vessel while he had been waiting for Sam to say yes. Nick had vanished into the ether after Lucifer had vacated the premises and Dean briefly wondered if the man was alive somewhere or had he been left a catatonic wreck like most vessels containing an archangel.

Dean didn’t have to look at Sam to know what effect this was having on his brother. Sam’s expression was one of sheer terror as he faced his greatest nightmare once more. For months after Sam had been rescued from the cage, he’d gone slowly mad as hallucinations of Lucifer nearly drove him to breaking point. If it had not been for Cas, Sam wouldn’t have survived and now he was not only back in the cage but Lucifer was standing before them both, large as life.

“Sorry we can’t stay,” Dean said clutching Sam’s arm even tighter, prepared to go through the son of a bitch if necessary. “We got plans.”

“Everyone has plans Dean,” Lucifer’s movement to counter him was slight but it was more than enough for Dean to get that he wasn’t letting either of them get past him. “I had the plan to bring an end to the war between heaven and hell but that got somewhat derailed, if you remember?”

Sam wanted to shut his ears, he didn’t want to listen to Lucifer talk, didn’t want to hear that _oh so_ reasonable voice that could cajole you into thinking that everything was fine, even while he was stripping the flesh of your bones. Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to see where he was; not wanting to be reminded of how he had spent a year in this place, a year that felt like eternity while his soul was tortured by two enraged angels.

Lucifer was continuing to speak, nowhere near the end of his speechifying. “Instead, I get stuck in here with _him_." He cast a disdainful look at Michael who was now on the ground, being mashed to pulp by Buffy and her mace. “I mean I’m used to the cage from the first time around. I had time to read, catch up on my stories, you get good reception down here surprisingly enough and perfect my Tunisian strawberry crochet stitch but Michael’s not used to solitary confinement. I’m afraid it’s sent him a little bat shit crazy."

As he spoke, Michael had caught the mace, yanked it out of Buffy’s hand and tossed it aside. She retaliated with a high kick but he caught her foot and flipped her over, sending her crashing against the hard floor. Dean winced as she landed, wanting badly to rush to her aid but torn because he had to get Sam out of here. Whatever this was, hallucination or reality, the blood gushing out of Sam’s wounds was _real_. He need a doctor and soon.  
“Oh that must _hurt_ ,” Lucifer said making a face at Buffy’s hard landing before turning back to Sam and Dean. “So I was saying, we had plans and thanks to you, we’re trapped in here with nothing to do but torturing your brother for entertainment.”

"Well boo freaking hoo!" Dean snapped furiously, angry because he had to choose between his brother and the girl he was staring to care about as much Sam. "If you guys weren't so hot to start your pissing contest, none of this would have happened!"

With that, Dean decided he was getting past Lucifer one way or another. He needed to get some out and so he could help Buffy. “Hang on Sammy,” he said gripping his brother tightly and made a run for the ledge he could see across the floor of the room. Sam struggled to keep pace with him but Dean could hear the grunt of pain, with each step he took. Unfortunately, he did not make it far as Lucifer was in front of them again, barring their way like an apparition. His arm shot out and struck Dean across the bridge of his nose, propelling him backwards and forcing him to relinquish his hold of Sam.

Without Dean’s support to hold him up, Sam sank to his knees and then onto his hands. Lucifer closed in on him, standing over the younger Winchester before grabbing hold of Sam’s cleft chin and hoisting him up effortlessly off the ground. Sam’s feet dangled inches off the ground as Lucifer held him up high by the chin, until Sam had to grip the angel’s hands to keep from breaking his neck.

"We could have created a new world," Lucifer said staring at Sam with pity, "I could have given you everything. Jesse, your father, I could have even been convinced to heal Dean after I was done killing Michael. Instead you decided to defy me and chain me up like an animal again. Didn’t your dad ever tell you that a chained animal is the most dangerous animal?" He punctuated that statement by jamming a finger in one of the raw wounds in Sam's thigh and pressed down hard.

Sam's scream caught Buffy's attention. The slayer looked up from her battle with Michael to see a new player on the field who had apparently waylaid Sam and Dean in their efforts to escape. She turned to Michael once more, having taken a few blows but delivering enough to drive him to the ground, disorientated from the pummelling he had received from her hands. She couldn’t waste time with him any further and threw another round house kick that connected with his jaw. He landed on the filthy floor on his belly and Buffy told herself that he wasn’t human when she brought down her foot down against his neck and snapped it.

The crunch of bone was heard amidst Sam’s cries and Buffy raced towards him, barely keeping herself from skidding across the blood soaked floor as she left the sight of Michael’s motionless body behind her. His glazed eyes staring into nothingness.

Retrieving the mace, Buffy raced across the floor and swung it at Lucifer, intending to deliver the blow to his shoulder so that he’d let go of Sam. However, at the last instant, Lucifer’s other hand shot out and caught the mace by the handle before it could connect. His grip was like iron and he turned to Buffy, his expression more amused than hostile. As he rested blue eyes on her, Buffy found something oddly disconcerting about his gaze as if he was looking right through her as he stared. His gaze moved up and down her body like he was committing every part of her to memory.

“Now that is something you don’t see every day,” Lucifer remarked throwing a glance at Sam, “A cute blond in the pit wearing Tweety bird pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.” Turning back to her, he said with a patronising tone. “This is kind of a boy’s club, girls aren’t allowed.” He retorted and then shoved her so hard, Buffy went tumbled backwards, the weight of the mace pulling her along and scraping her on the cheek as she fell.

Lucifer resumed his torture of Sam, continuing to burrow through the wounds on Sam’s limbs with his fingers. Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to scream and forcing himself to rein in the pain so he could speak. “Alright,” he gasped, “you win. Just Let Dean and Buffy go. I’ll stay behind. You can tear me to pieces if you want but just let them _go_.” The demand escaped him in a sob of defeat. He never wanted to live through this nightmare again, never wanted to endure the agony but he couldn’t let Dean and Buffy suffer it too. They did nothing to deserve this while he had done everything to do so. I'll do whatever you want; just let them go... _please_."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be in the cage if Buffy and Dean were here too. This was the same kind of hallucination that had produced Angelus and most likely the monsters that had killed Sherman and Benson but Sam didn’t care. It felt real and if there was even the slight possibility that it was real, Sam had to do all he could to parlay freedom for his brother and the slayer.

However, the devil wasn’t dealing today.

"I begged you once Sam," Lucifer retaliated with those sad eyes that made you believe that he was a wounded animal, wronged and persecuted when in fact he was the worst monster of them all. "I begged you to let me in and you paid me back by locking me in here for all eternity. I'm sorry Sam but no one leaves here, not ever."

"Says you, you son of a bitch!" Dean Winchester growled and swung the rusty axe he’d gone searching for.

There was just enough time for Lucifer to turn around and catch a glimpse of the blade before it sliced through his neck in one powerful blow. Dean put everything he had into that swing; wanting to make sure he got it right the first try. Lucifer had no time to cry out or react as the blade cut through flesh and bone with such force that his decapitation resulted in his severed head flying off his body. His head spun in mid-air once before it landed on the floor with the rest of the blood and gore with a sickly squelch. Sam tumbled to the floor as Lucifer’s headless corpse relinquished his hold on him and joined him there a second later.

"Nobody messes with my brother or my girl…" Dean spat at Lucifer's dead form unaware that the last bit slipped out of his lips without his realizing it.

Sam struggled to his feet; his knees feeling like rubber and his body so filled with this constant pain that he was actually starting to manage it. He heard Dean’s comment and blinked, looking at his brother as Dean approached him to help him up.

“Your girl huh…?” It was easier to joke with Dean right now then face the horror of where they were.

“Cut me some slack, I just saved your ass,” Dean grumbled, embarrassed that he’d said that out loud.

Buffy shook her head from the blow that Lucifer had delivered, recovering enough to see Dean deliver his killing stroke before she got to her feet and hurried to them, wanting to help him with Sam so they could get the hell out of this place. She paused a moment, noting the exchange of looks between the brothers before she saw Dean dropping the axe, the rest of him was splattered in blood.

"Gross,” she commented at the state of him. “ _Now_ can we go?"

"Hell yeah," Dean retorted, wiping the blood on his face with the back of his hand. His forehead was smeared with blood that was not his own and all three of them looked like the leads in a splatter flick. 

Flanking Sam, Buffy and Dean hauled Sam to his feet and crossed the bloody floor, headed towards the wall where the doorway back to her hallway still remained opened for them to enter. With their help, Sam started to recoup enough strength to be able to help in their escape instead of hindering them. His limbs felt heavy from blood loss and the pain was considerable but he was damned if he was going to be carried out of this place. Moving as best he could, he took note of their surroundings, the cage that wasn’t really a cage and tried to process some of this with what they had encountered already.

Something moved in the corner of her eye and Buffy didn’t have to know if Dean saw it, she had and that was enough. It came from where she’d left Michael and without even waiting to see if it was an aberration, Buffy reacted.

"MOVE!" She barked at Dean who followed her gaze and realize she had good reason for the order.

"Fuck!" Dean swore, “Come on Sammy.” He urged his brother faster and hastened his pace in hauling ass. He still had no proof they’d be safer once they were through the door but at least, they'd be back in the real world.

"What is it?" Sam asked weakly.

"Trust me Sammy, you don't want to know." Dean retorted not voicing the worry that if Michael was getting to his feet then it might not be long before Lucifer would be doing the same, sans head or not.

Sam took his word on it and they soon found themselves beneath the doorway that had previously been the door to Buffy’s spare bedroom but was now the entrance to the cage. The light pouring through from the hallways light felt almost like heavenly after the sinister red that bathed the cage.

"You first Counsellor!" Dean ordered her as Sam braced himself against the wall. Before she could protest, Dean had his hands on her hips and was lifting up her small frame to the door frame. “Get over, you can help Sam up!”

He need not have lifted her but it made things simpler nonetheless, Buffy caught hold of the edge and pulled herself over with ease, turning around to see Michael starting to get up, his neck still hanging in that crooked angle. Something else was moving down there and her stomach clenched. God, she thought. No, not God, _Lucifer_.

“Hurry up,” she said to Dean, “don’t make me come down and get you.” It wasn’t a joke. She _would._

"I love you when you get all bossy," Dean quipped and then turn to Sam, securing his hold on Sam and steering him to the wall so he could help his brother.

"My God, it’s like Moonlighting..." Sam groaned before he raised his arms painfully, his height more than allowing him to reach the door frame. However, in his condition, he would need help climbing over.

Buffy was already on her knees, reaching down to grab hold of Sam's forearms. She tried to avoid the wounds but there was no helping it. He'd been in pain when she lifted him up but at least, he'd be out of that hellhole. Making full use of her slayer strength, Buffy dragged Sam up, her teeth gritting as she pulled him over the edge. As soon as Sam was able, he used his elbows to haul himself the rest of the way. Behind him, Dean pushed at his legs to give him the boost needed to scramble into the hallway.

Groaning as he lifted, Dean felt the chords of his neck strain as he put his back into lifting Sam off the ground. Sam was doing his best to help but the trials and these new injuries had taken its toll Sam and he was weaker than Dean had ever seen him and that terrified Dean more than he cared to admit. More than even the cage scared him. 

Once Sam had started to pull himself up on his own power thanks to Dean's effort, Buffy clamped onto his shoulder and hauled him the rest of the way. No sooner than he was past the threshold, she was leaning over the edge to see where Dean was.

"Dean hurry!" She called frantically when she saw Michael and now Lucifer were fast approaching him.

Dean was away ahead of her as he made a running jump towards the edge now that Sam was safe. Dean had risked a glance over his shoulder before he leapt and saw both Michael and Lucifer coming in for the kill. Lucifer was now whole; having recovered his severed head but it was Michael who would reach him _first_.

 _Screw that_ , Dean thought and hoisted himself through the door. Buffy was there immediately to help, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him the rest of the way when suddenly he felt Michael's hand clamp around his ankle in a last ditch effort to drag him back into the cage.

"You're not going anywhere Dean!" Michael hissed, "We were just starting to have fun!"

"Sorry I'm all partied out!" Dean snapped and lashed out, kicking out his foot and striking Michael square in the face. The archangel released his hold and fell back down. Buffy yanked Dean towards her in one massive effort, until he collapsed onto top her. Wasting no time, he swung his foot at the door and slammed it shut with a loud thud. 

For a few seconds, no one spoke as they waited with breath held to see if Lucifer and Michael would try to come through. Seconds became minutes and it soon apparent that the two archangels would not be intruding Buffy's home.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore loudly, exasperated and enraged as he saw Sam trying to sit up, ragged wounds in his forearms and thighs. Buffy lay beneath him, bruises on her face where she'd battled Michael, her cute pyjamas ruined with blood and God only knew what else.

Recovering himself, he looked down at her, "you okay?" He asked, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to his curses a few seconds.

"My spare room has been turned into the slaughterhouse from hell but other than that, I'm just _peachy_ ," Buffy retorted sarcastically, trying to ignore the intimacy of their positioning.

Dean too noticed it and if it wasn't for Sam looking like Death, he might have had something glib to say about but the only thing he cared about was getting to his brother. "Sammy needs help," Dean declared and got off her, crawling on his hands to Sam who though conscious, looked desperately in need of an emergency room.

As Dean tended to Sam, Buffy got to her feet and contemplated the shut door in front of her. The fact that Michael and Lucifer had not come through was telling and she put her hand on the doorknob, bracing herself for the worst when she twisted it open. She needed to know if her suspicions about what she would find was right. Opening it slowly, Buffy widened the crack and stared inside, her shoulder slackened at her findings. 

"Dean," she said, "look."

"What?" Dean demanded, glancing away from Sam for a moment when he did a double take at what she was showing him. Where only a few minutes ago, there had been the entrance to Lucifer's cage, now all that appeared beyond the threshold was a bedroom, decorated in Ikea furniture with Sam's duffle bag at the foot of the bed and his clothes draped across a chair.

There was no sign of the cage.

*********

They couldn’t take Sam to the hospital even though Dean wished liked hell they could. Thanks to the Leviathans, Sam and Dean Winchester were still wanted criminals. Furthermore, the nature of his injuries almost guaranteed the police would be called in to determine how he had sustained them. Fortunately, Buffy had other resources to draw from and though it had been some time since she had used any of it, Giles made sure she always had access to them. After all, she was the Chosen One.

The Watcher Council had their own healers and physicians on the payroll because although slayers healed fast, they were still susceptible to injuries that not even their remarkable recuperation abilities could overcome. And like the predicament the Winchesters now found themselves, the slayers could not afford to involve the authorities if they were to go to a hospital.

Buffy had called Faith to find out where the nearest Watcher Council physician was located and was pleased to learn that there was one in Kansas City. Faith who was presently in Texas, was clearing up a case of demonic parasites that had supposedly tainted the water supply in a small community, and was burning with curiosity to get the details on the job Buffy was working. Knowing how astute Faith could be when it came to any discussion about men, Buffy resisted giving her even the slightest details about the Winchesters, especially Dean.

In any case, Faith provided her with the information and Buffy learned, to her pleasant surprise, that the doctor was someone she knew. Caridad Esteban had been a potential slayer when the First Evil had been slaughtering them on mass during Buffy's last year in Sunnydale. What was left of the Watcher Council had smuggled the remaining girls to Sunnydale in the hopes that the slayer would be able to protect the girls. After training the potentials and Willow's spell activating all dormant slayers, they were able to defeat the First Evil although the resulting battle had destroyed Sunnydale for good.

Since then, Cari had completed her education and gained a medical degree, settling in Kansas City at St. Luke's Hospital. When Buffy had called her in the middle of the night, Cari had wasted no time getting in her car and arriving at Lawrence within the hour. It was strange that even after all this time, Cari behaved like she was still Buffy's to command even if Buffy hadn't been a fully-fledged Slayer in years.

*****

Dean had gotten cleaned up in the main bathroom and was sitting across Buffy in the arm chair Sam had occupied earlier that night. He was wearing a clean tee and jeans while she had switched to her satin blue pyjamas since her Tweety ones needed to be burned just on principle. He was drinking coffee and she was sipping on chamomile, trying to come to grips that the world had returned to its civility after what they'd seen earlier tonight.

“Okay so it’s definitely the antique store,” Dean declared, needing to talk about something or else he’d be tempted to barge into Buffy's room and demand the doc tell him how Sam doing again. "So should I expect some freaky ass thing to come jump out at me since I was in there too?"

"I guess so," Buffy frowned, feeling as if she was missing something. "That means you and I spending the night out here, where I can keep an eye out on you. I've had my turn in the Twilight Zone so you’re up _next_." 

"That was not the way I planned on spending the night with you," he grumbled before a small smile crossed his lips and he met her gaze with what she was calling classic Dean Winchester innuendo. "Although if you want...."

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. " _Focus_ , Winchester." Buffy said sternly, "we're not going to be caught with our pants down when this thing comes at us again." She saw his grin and groaned before tossing a cushion at him. "If this thing comes at you, what are we likely facing?" 

"The Easter Bunny," Dean retorted, knowing perfectly well what frightened him. 

"Come on," Buffy stared at him, seeing through the lie immediately. She wasn't a trained counsellor for nothing. "I won't consider it a slight on your alpha male status if you tell me what you're afraid of."

"I don't know okay!" Dean insisted, feigning ignorance. "Look I've seen a lot of weird shit in my life, I mean a lot! It could be _anything_."

Buffy folded her arms and stared at him impatiently, her eyes fixed on him, showing her displeasure. "Dean, we need to know." She insisted. 

"Look it’s not going to happen, not if I can help it. So it’s pointless talking about it." Dean snapped before getting up and storming out of the living room, not wanting to discuss the subject any further. 

However, Buffy was neither letting him out of her sight nor was she letting him avoid the issue. Their lives depended on it. She followed him out as he stepped onto the back garden through the sliding doors in the kitchen. She found him standing on the grass as staring at the moonless sky. 

"Dean I don't want to press you but you know you got to tell me what it is," Buffy insisted. "What we've seen of this thing that it’s pretty damn good at getting inside our heads. If we can get ahead of it, maybe it won't end up so messy." She was no longer the Counsellor or the girl whom he was attracted to, Buffy now faced him as the Slayer and the slayer had no patience with the niceties when lives were at stake. 

"Goddamn it!" Dean swore at her, “it’s nothing that can hurt us okay? If I wasn't sure of that I'd tell you but it’s not going to happen so there's no point in telling you." Dean knew that was a bullshit answer but he didn't know her well enough to reveal that much of his inner self to her. Sure they'd traded stories and he was sweet on her, no contest there but telling what terrified him the most? Hell he couldn't even tell Sam. 

She wasn't going to take that as answer, not when she had spilled her heart out to him about Angel. "Oh I get it, that's fine. You're not into the sharing. It’s okay for the rest of us have our insides spill out in front of you but you're too good for that right?" She turned away from him, her disappointment clearly showing in her eyes. 

Dean swore beneath his breath, feeling like he'd been gut punched by just the way she looked at him, like he was as much a dick as that Angelus guy and Dean hated how that felt. "Wait a minute," he went after her grabbing her wrist before she got too far away from him. "It’s not like that Counsellor," he tried to explain. 

"Oh sure it isn't!" She snapped, pulling her wrist away from him and striding towards the house once more. 

Dean was tempted to let her go. Who was she other than a piece of ass he'd hoped to nail? They were working a job together, that's it. He didn't owe her a goddamn thing. Yet as she drew away from him, the threads between them remained, pulling him towards her. The memory of her smile, the one that Sammy didn't recognise because he hadn't met Mary Campbell, Dean had seen that same smile in the diner that morning and knew in a way he could not explain, that life was never going to be the same again.

"It's me alright!" He shouted after her and Buffy paused, turning to look at him, her brow knotted because she didn't understand. 

"What scares me most, is _me_." He confessed. "Because there is nothing, _nothing_ I wouldn't do for my brother. I've gone to hell for him and I've been ready to die a thousand times for him. I was ready to let the world burn just to save him. He's my brother, it’s my job to take care of him and I have never been able to sacrifice him. When I was forced to, it was like someone had carved me out with a knife, there was nothing left inside. It scares the hell out of me what I'd do save him."

And that she understood. Completely. 

She walked to him, sadness and understanding in her eyes as she paused in front of him. "You're such a moron Winchester," she reached up and held his face in her hands. "That that I _get_. You're not the only one who’s got the market cornered on what you're willing to do for family. I died for my sister and I'd do it again. So yeah, I _get_ it." 

"I get that we're both fucking damaged," Dean retorted but there was no malice in his voice just acceptance that they were kindred spirits. 

Dean lifted her chin and lowered his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull away, Dean boldly claimed her mouth for his own, exploring the sweetness of her with growing intensity. He conducted a sensual game of thrust and parry as their tongues duelled for dominance. Wrapping his arms around her slender back, he drew her close to him while at the same time feeling a surge of pleasure at her fingers raking at his back. 

Since they’d laid eyes on each other, there had been this connection. He was accustomed to threating women as disposable because the ones he cared about always got hurt or _worse_. However, Buffy was capable of taking care of herself without any need for him to protect her thought he still wanted it to some degree because like him she hid the vulnerable parts of herself beneath a facade of stoic resignation.

That was the price of loving as hard as they did, the agony of the loss that came from it. 

*****

Cari emerged from the house, seeking out Buffy and her patient’s brother to provide them with an update on her patient’s condition only to find the two lip locked in the middle of the backyard. The former slayer, now doctor, let out a sigh and retreated discreetly into the kitchen once more, thinking that her news about Sam Winchester could wait until they were done with their personal moment. Besides Cari approved of Buffy’s new (she assumed) boyfriend. 

_At least this one wasn’t a vampire._.


	10. Chapter 10

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Cari remarked with a sly smile when Dean and Buffy returned to the house ten minutes later.

Buffy immediately turned bright red and a satisfied smile crept across his face at that. Dean had to admit he found the appearance of that blush, every time sex was discussed, to be utterly irresistible. Still, he decided that while he liked Buffy quite a lot, she needed to get laid in the worst way. It was the only time Dean thought it was his sacred duty to make it happen or else the woman was going to break something or turn crazy like some of those Catholic nuns. Nevertheless, Dean's natural attachment to his balls told him voicing this thought would put them in eminent danger. 

Instead of letting Buffy discombobulate trying to respond to Cari's observation, Dean brushed past the awkwardness by directing Cari to the only topic of importance right now; Sam. 

"So how is he?" Dean asked as they settled down at the kitchen table where Cari had been sitting when they returned to the house. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Cari answered, stating the obvious but soon resumed her report. "But thanks to the information you provided about his blood type, I was able to give him the transfusion he needed.”

When Buffy had first contacted Cari, the physician had asked for as much detail about Sam's current state as possible so that she could bring the appropriate supplies since going to a hospital was out of the question. While Dean shared the same blood type as Sam, Cari had still brought packs of blood in Sam's type in case that wasn't enough. Upon her arrival, her first order of business, after shoeing them out of Buffy's bedroom where Sam was; was to replace Sam's loss of blood. Fortunately, the blood packs had been enough without Dean having to step in as donor. 

“So he's going to be alright?” Dean asked, eager for to get on with it and tell him if Sam was going to okay. The image of Sam hanging suspended like meat on a hook, dangling above the killing floor, his blood draining from him was an image that Dean never wanted to see again. Not to mention how frightened Sam had been, thinking he was back in the cage. Dean hadn't heard Sam scream for him like that since he was a kid and his cries had pierced Dean like knives. 

"I believe so," Cari nodded and then quickly added, "but the lacerations are severe. It won't be an easy or quick recover. Muscle tissue was lacerated and in some case almost penetrated all the way through. What was done to him was deliberate, ensuring no major arteries were damaged so the bleeding, while profuse was not immediately fatal. He could have been kept alive like that for hours."

 _For eternity you mean_ , Dean thought to himself. If what took place in Buffy's spare bedroom was a personification of Sam's fears of being in the cage, then Michael and Lucifer would have wanted to torture Sam for as long as they could. They'd want to wring out every second of agony for as long as it lasted. However Dean knew one thing with absolute with certainty; if that had really been Michael and Lucifer that he and Buffy had faced, neither of them would be alive. The real Michael and Lucifer could have killed them both without breaking a sweat. 

"I’ve had to suture all of the wounds," Dean heard Cari say and return his attention to her update. "The damage was just too significant for me to use dermabond or steristrips. He'll need to be on antibiotics and I've given him a tetanus shot. He’s in a lot of pain so I’ve also administered some pain killers. He'll need them for the first few days as well as complete rest for a few days. Nothing strenuous like slaying." She directed that comment at Buffy. 

"He'll get it," Buffy stated firmly before Dean had a chance to answer. "He can stay here." No way was Sam going to recover in that seedy hotel. She liked the younger Winchester brother for reasons she'd never tell Dean and was not about to let him languish alone in a hotel room. 

Dean opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. Buffy was opening her home to him and Sam and Dean was touched. There was real concern for Sam in her eyes and Dean found his affection for her deepening even more. Still he had no desire to impose on her and he had always taken care of Sam, it was not a duty he could easily relinquish to anyone.

"For _now_ ," Dean added after a moment, nothing the raised brow from Buffy indicating the subject was far from decided. 

Sensing that this could become a 'thing' between the two of them, Cari decided not to pursue it and made a diplomatic change of subject. "So do you know what kind of monster you're dealing with?" 

" _No_." Both Dean and Buffy said in unison and then shot each other a look of embarrassment. 

_Oh this was too good,_ Cari thought to herself. She was going to have a field day when she texted this to Faith and the other slayers she was still friends with. 

"We're not sure yet," Buffy spoke again, feeling awkward again. "We know it’s telepathic. It seems to read our thoughts and able to throw our worst fears at us."

"Ewwww...." Cari wrinkled her nose in distaste and Dean wondered if those Shadow Men had included essence of Spice Girls to the mix when they'd been working their spell to create Slayers. 

Suddenly a thought struck her and she recovered her composure and turned to Dean. "Is it safe for Sam to be here? If you’re expecting this thing to come back, maybe he needs to be someplace safer?”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to him,” Dean said firmly. “He’s safer where I can keep an eye on him.” 

Buffy suspected that Dean was going to unmovable on this subject and left it alone. Besides, she didn’t think it was good idea for Sam to be alone either. 

“And I can keep an eye on both of them,” Buffy told Cari with a smile. 

*****

It was still the middle of the night when Dean raided the Impala to ensure that he was properly armed if any son of a bitch came after him. As she saw him laying out his weapons on her kitchen table, she had to admire the arsenal in front of her. The more she learned about these ‘hunters’, the more it became clear that these weren’t just civilians playing at monster hunting. Their weapons were well thought out, specialized to deal with the particular threat, whether it was demon, vampire or ghost. Iron, rock salt and silver ammunition, along with knives that gave her own cache of weapons some serious competition.

Dean had even let her look through his father’s diary and Buffy saw an cryptozoology of creatures she never knew existed and was convinced that the Watcher Council were unaware of either. John Winchester had travelled all across the country on his hunts, just as Sam and Dean had done. It made Buffy wonder about being based in Sunnydale. For all of John’s travels, the word ‘Hellmouth’ never entered his vocabulary and Giles had believed that all nature of evil had gravitated to the one in Sunnydale. There was such an obvious discrepancy in their knowledge that Buffy made it a point to investigate once this job as Dean called it was done. 

Reading his father’s journal was also an insight into Dean Winchester. Buffy had never met a demon or an enemy who had ever been as insidious as Azazel, referred to in the early segments of the diary as the Yellow Eyed Demon. There was never any chance for Dean and Sam to be anything other than what they were because the demon had ensured it. It had torn his family apart and even if it had only killed his mother and Buffy guessed his devotion to Sam was the same as her own when Joyce had died; to hold on to what was left. 

It was also not lost on her that he’d let her read the diary, sensing it was not something he shared and that it had done so now meant something. Unlike Angel who was so filled with secrets, Dean was willing to share the uglier parts of his life with her, without hesitation. After what had happened with Angelus and then with Sam, what was there left to hide? She liked the fact that he trusted her with the diary and as they spent their evening waiting for the creature to return, Buffy found he was fun to be with even when he wasn’t trying to put the move on her. 

Forcing themselves to stay awake through the night, both were conscious of the fact that Dean’s fears might manifest themselves in a threat to Sam. They’d taken turns checking on the younger Winchester after Cari had left, only to see that thanks to the medication she had prescribed, Sam was in a deep sleep and wasn’t walking up any time soon. Oblivious to their vigil, Sam slept fitfully, unaware that Buffy and Dean would be up all night to keep him safe. 

As the hours stretched, they began to relax a little and though neither were about to say for certain the danger had passed, they’d decided remaining in each other’s company for the rest of the night was a way to keep safe. Buffy had made popcorn and the two of them had ended up on the sofa, watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, MD which Dean claim he didn’t watch even if he knew who Doctor Jenny Piccolo was. 

By the time Doctor Sexy had ended, they’d flipped to a channel broadcasting cheesy monster movies and Buffy and Dean watched while pointing out plot holes and authenticity from their own experiences. She didn’t know if it felt the same to Dean but after a while, it didn’t feel as if they were waiting for a monster to arrive but more like they were on a date watching old movies on the sofa and filling up on junk food. It had been so long since Buffy had enjoyed being with a guy in this way, where she hadn’t had to lie about being a slayer or hide the fact that she knew the world was inhabited by meaner things, that it felt almost normal being with him. 

By the time dawn approached and they were snuggled against each other as watching Arachnaquake (WTF?), Buffy started thinking about what would happen when they killed this creature. For the first time since meeting Dean Winchester, Buffy realised that when he was finished in Lawrence, he and Sam would be on the road again, going to their _next_ job. 

Despite herself, despite the independence she’d been enjoying these three years, knowing that inevitability approached left a heavy sensation in her gut. She was going to miss him. 

She was going to miss him _a lot._

******

Sam woke up and found himself in a girl’s bedroom. 

It took him a moment to remember that this was either Buffy’s bedroom or else Dean had checked him into the gayest hotel room in the world. There were flowers print sheets and too many pillows on his bed. Living out of motels for the past eight years and sleeping in an ‘67 Impala had made him forget what it had been like sharing an apartment with Jess for a nearly two years. Girls? They liked flowers on stuff and lots of pillows, usually with frills of some kind. He spent the first few minutes after waking debating on this point, largely because processing any thought beyond that felt too hard for his just conscious brain. 

It was better than remembering that only last night, he’d been in the cage. 

Closing his eyes, he dispelled the images that crowded on him like a collapsing building once he’d allowed himself to remember. He’d been living with the memories of the cage for quite some time now and part of his recovery from that awful experience had been how he faced such recollections. After yesterday, he felt as if the wall had just collapsed inside his brain, allowing him to face the tortures and degradations by Lucifer and Michael anew. Logically, he knew that the creature or whatever the hell it was that had hit him and Buffy with its mojo, had created that nightmare but it still felt _real._  
He supposed if anything told him that world was a facsimile, it was the fact that Dean was able to kill Lucifer. If that had been the real Lucifer, the one he’d faced and said yes to, no one would have survived. Not him, once Lucifer was done torturing him that is, not Dean and certainly not Buffy, Slayer or not. He considered that the creature would have drawn from Sam’s memories and despite Sam’s fears, he knew that Lucifer could be defeated. By recreating Lucifer out of his memories, the creature had also built in its own vulnerabilities. The real Lucifer would have none. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed in bed, only that after a while, he got tired of it and felt the need to get out of bed. Sam could hear no movement beyond the room and he wondered if Dean and Buffy had gone out, chasing down more leads on the case. They had something of theory to follow up the night before and even with Sam laid up, there would be no stopping Dean to put an end to this threat, whatever it was. Perhaps Sam could help and remembered his laptop was in the living room. If he couldn’t work the job for Dean and Buffy, perhaps he could do some research on the Net. 

Forcing himself to get out of bed, Sam’s whole body ached with pain. He could tell by his dry mouth that he had been medicated so he guessed that he was experiencing the version with medication. It made him wonder how it would feel without Cari’s pain killers. The thought was daunting. As he stood upright, he grabbed the corner of the bedside table to brace himself as he accustomed his body to movement. Noting the bottle of pills on the table, he reached for it and read the label. Vicodin. It would do. Helping himself to one after reading the instructions on the label, he downed a pill with the glass of water on the bedside table. Once done, he started towards the door when his eye caught sight of something. 

They hadn’t noticed it before because when they had last been in this room, Buffy had just been attacked by Angelus. She’d been freaked out and emotionally wrought so conducting an examination of the room hadn’t been a priority. However now Sam bent over, grimacing in pain as he ran his fingers along the base of the closet and noted the residue found there. It was a fine powder of concrete along with chips that looked very much like paint. Dean had found the same thing at Sherman’s office and also at the alley where Benson had been found. Sam wondered if they would find the same if they went to Buffy’s spare room. 

It was like something was opening a door to this room and then closing it again, leaving everything the way it was, except for the residue of tearing through the wall in the first place. Sensing this was important, Sam pulled on his jeans carefully over his bandaged legs and then went outside to find his brother. 

As he emerged into the hallway, the silence reinforced his belief that Dean and Buffy had gone out without him. The clock on the wall indicated it was almost noon. It seemed to fit as he glanced outside and saw the activity on the street. It was quiet with few people out and about since they were either at school or work. It was only then that Sam saw the Impala was still parked in the driveway. Could they have taken Buffy’s car? Sam doubted it. Dean couldn’t stand not being the driver and worse yet, he couldn’t stand driving any other car but the Impala, unless of course Buffy had him more whipped than Sam originally thought.   
Dean was awful sweet on her after all. 

Sam padded slowly into the living room and stopped short when he saw the scene before him. He found himself suppressing a laugh as he saw just what Dean and Buffy got up to last night. From the arsenal on the kitchen table, it appeared as if they were waiting to see what else would come their way after the double whammy of Angelus and Lucifer in one night. However, at some point in the evening, this was abandoned for what Sam was now witnessing with great amusement. 

The coffee table had all the signs of a couch picnic with remnants of popcorn, empty coke cans and microwaved nachos strewn across the surface. Somewhere in the empty Twinkie wrappers and empty potato chip bags, was the remote control and the TV Guide. Shaking his head, Sam picked up the half empty bowl of popcorn and stood over Dean with a contemplative expression that soon disintegrated into mischief. 

Dean Winchester was presently lying on the couch, spooning Buffy Summers, fast sleep. The scene was so domestic that Sam briefly entertained the notion of capturing the image on his phone and sending it to Charlie and Garth just for the hell of it. Hell he was even tempted to send it to Chuck Edlund as fodder for the man’s next book. Deciding that was too cruel and Buffy was an innocent in all this, he was satisfied with rounding the sofa to stand directly above Dean and start pelting his brother’s face with popcorn. 

One kernel at a time.

Dean felt something against his face and immediately swatted it away. A second later, he felt something else against his cheek and rubbed his nose, trying to wave away the nuisance. By the fourth drop against his face, he was properly annoyed and roused out of his sleep. Blinking his eyelids open, Dean became aware of two things. Someone’s hot and awesome body was pressed so tightly against his, he could feel the delicious curves enticing him back to sleep again and secondly, he saw Sam standing over him, grinning. 

“What?” Dean grumbled. 

“You two are just soo cute,” Sam teased in his best Sean Hayes voice. 

Dean blinked and craned his neck to see that Buffy was sleeping in his arms, her petite frame fitting so perfectly it was like they’d been doing this forever. She looked beautiful asleep, golden hair framing her face and popcorn on her cheek. Huh? Then Dean felt the popcorn kernels on his face and shot Sam a glare. 

“You’re a dick.” He hissed.

Sam grinned and turned away, making his way slowly to the kitchen table before lowering himself into it with a soft grunt of pain, waiting for Dean. 

An expert at getting out of bed and hotel rooms without waking the women he’d been with, Dean was able to extricate himself from Buffy and the sofa to join Sam a moment later. As he sat down across Sam, he studied his brother, examining the man’s state. Sam had already looked strung out of shape before the incident last night but now he looked positively wasted. There were dark circles under his eyes and Dean swore his cheeks looked hollow. The bandages around Sam’s arm were barely concealed by his t-shirt and Dean made a mental note to change the dressing at some point today. 

“You look like hell,” Dean pointed out, sugar coating nothing because Sam would be able to tell if he was lying anyway. 

“Thanks,” Sam shrugged, aware of his condition and had made peace with it when he’d been made responsible for the trials. “I’ve been better.” He admitted. “I just wanted to know what was happening.” 

“I could have told you that if you’d called me to the room,” Dean retorted and then asked in a gentler tone, “You okay?” 

Sam nodded aware that Dean was concerned about his mental state after reliving the cage again. He didn’t blame his older brother. It had taken no less than an angel to repair the damage when the wall inside his brain, keeping all those horrific images of the cage at bay, had lowered. Even if it wasn’t real, Sam could have relapsed after last night’s experiences. “It felt so real Dean,” Sam admitted. “I almost believed I was there but I’ll get over it. I’ll live.” 

Dean wasn’t so sure but he didn’t want to argue about it now. “You should go back to bed,” Dean pointed out. “The doctor said you needed to take it easy for at least a week.” 

Trying to deflect, Sam gave Dean a knowing smile. “She was kind of hot. What I remember of her…” 

Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder to make sure Buffy wasn’t awake, Dean turned back to his brother and grinned, “She was smoking.” 

Both of them chuckled before Sam got back on track again. “So this thing didn’t come after you last night?” He asked Dean, guessing from how he’d found Dean and Buffy that they’d spent the whole night in anticipation of trouble which had not come. 

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “we waited all night for it to show up, kept each other in sight and checked on you, just in case but there was no sign of it. I don’t know Sammy, something weird is going on here. I mean we were all at that antique shop, it should have come after me too.” 

“It should have,” Sam nodded and then recalled what he had found in Buffy’s bedroom. “I found the same kind of dust you found in the alley with Benson and in the office with Sherman, in Buffy’s room.” 

“No shit,” Dean sat up straighter, “so maybe that’s what it leaves behind when it gets in.” 

“That’s what I think,” Sam agreed. “I’ll bet if you go into the spare room where I was, you’ll find the same thing.” 

“Still leaves us with the same problem,” Dean eased back into his chair with a frown. “It should have showed up last night. We were waiting for it. ” 

“Well it wasn’t a complete loss,” Sam gave a Dean a look of innocence and quipped, “You and Buffy got to have a slumber party.” 

“Bite me,” Dean growled and got off his seat to make coffee. “So why you and Buffy and not me?” 

“Maybe, it’s because of that puzzle thingee,” the two men heard Buffy suddenly reply in a drowsy voice. She pushed her head above the top of the sofa to reveal her dishevelled hair and her half sleep features and added, “You know, the one you and I were messing with.” 

Dean put down the coffee pot he was holding and stared them both down. “What puzzle thingee?” 

“It was this puzzle cube that Buffy picked up,” Sam explained, concentrating hard because it hadn’t occurred to him. They’d barely had contact with it for less than a minute. “When we were walking around the antique shop, Buffy saw this cube. It looked old with markings I’ve never seen before so I figured it was made up like those two dorks did with the tulpa. It didn’t look like any iconograph or symbols I’d ever seen so I figured it was just artistic design. Anyway, you had to turn it this way and that for it to open…” 

“What’s a tulpa?” Buffy asked with a yawn as she climbed off the sofa and sat down at the table next to Sam. 

“Nevermind that,” Dean declared, his tone taking on a decidedly impatient air. “So let me get this straight. We’re hunting a monster that has so far killed two people and you two decide to go _antiquing_ while we’re in the place that probably got them ganked in the first place?” 

When he said it like that, they really sounded dumb, Buffy thought. 

“Well not exactly…” Sam stared to explain. 

“Not exactly?” Dean exclaimed. “So you didn’t pick up some ancient Rubik’s cube and start trying to unlock it?” His annoyance was clear. 

Sam and Buffy exchanged guilty looks. This time it was Buffy who answered, only because she thought the kissing the night before might make him less mad at her. “It was pretty,” she said guiltily. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation more upset at Sam than he was at Buffy. “Jesus Christ! How many times did dad warn us about stuff like this? If it’s old and looks weird, don’t touch it! I’m telling you, when this is done I am so schooling you both on the lore about cursed objects!” 

Buffy winced at the fact that he’d included her in this lesson. Then again, he’d included her in the lesson which implied he cared enough to bother. _Really Summers? That’s what you’re thinking about?_ She chided herself. 

Dean’s self-righteous rant was far from done. “You two could have been killed! I’ll bet my ass that Sherman and Benson probably went wandering through the place and got up close and personal with the damn thing as well. They probably just touched it, figured it some cheap piece of crap and put it down again without any clue that it just put the fear mojo on them” 

“Wow,” Buffy looked at Sam, “so not a morning person huh?” 

“He’s better after breakfast,” Sam replied, letting the air out of Dean’s tirade.

“Oh you two are hilarious,” Dean shook his head and went back to the counter to resume making coffee. “You could have gotten yourselves killed. You almost did.” Dean shot Sam a reproachful glare. 

“Look can we do the spanking later?” Buffy exclaimed, deciding enough was enough. “We need to figure this out.” 

Dean stopped short as the image of spanking, cheerleader costumes and Buffy flashed in his brain and derailed his thoughts for a second before he shook it off. “Don’t try and distract me,” he declared. 

Buffy smiled sweetly. It was worth a try. 

“Dean if this is it,” Sam spoke up trying to propel them past the moment as well as thoughts of spanking cheerleaders, “I’ll need to get a picture of it so I can do some research. This box has got to come from somewhere right? The antique store owner may not know what he’s sitting on.” 

“It might have a certificate of authenticity,” Buffy suggested, recalling that for some of the more interesting pieces Joyce had bought for her gallery, the items usually came with some paperwork. While she wasn’t certain that the same thing applied for antique stores, it was worth a try.

“Can’t hurt until we ask,” Dean replied thinking it was a place to start. You and me are going to check this thing out and get a picture of it for Sam. Meanwhile, if you’re up to it.” He looked at Sam who should have been resting but Dean knew his brother better than that, “Call Diane Lee and find out if Benson had the spook on for anything in particular.” 

“I can call Mrs Sherman on our way to the antique shop,” Buffy offered. 

“So what do you do when you find this thing?” Sam asked. “You can’t touch it.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean said with a shrug. “We’ll see when we get our hands on it.”


	11. Chapter 11

Leaving Sam to get some rest, Buffy and Dean were driving down Massachusetts Avenue in the Impala an hour later, heading towards the antique store to confirm if the cube was in fact the cause of all their deepest fears manifesting into real life enemies. While the cube was so far the only common denominator as to why Sam and Buffy’s fears had appeared, Dean wanted something more concrete. In any case, whether or not it was responsible, they had to re move it from display. There was no telling how many people could handle it while they were browsing through the store. Like Benson and Sherman, they'd have no idea of the danger they'd brought on themselves until it was too late.

Continuing the charade of impersonating FBI agents, it was already mid-afternoon when they headed out. Sam had wanted to come with them but there was no way, Dean was letting that happen. Instead, he managed to placate Sam by setting him the task of researching the possible origins of the cube. Something like that didn’t just show up one day; there would be a history of its prior to its appearance in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean was convinced of it. 

Buffy had also put in a call to Giles. She’d last spoken to him the night Bob Sherman had died, updating him on the information she’d gleaned from Dean about the existence of hunters. Like her, Giles had been astonished to learn that there were humans spread across the globe hunting demons and vampires in the same manner as slayers. While the Council was aware of the odd church affiliated crusader such as Holtz who had hunted Angelus a century ago, they were oblivious to an entire culture of hunters who had passed on their knowledge from generation to generation. 

Before leaving, Buffy had asked Giles to consult his library to see if there was any mention of a cursed object matching the cube’s description in the Watcher Council archives. She could sense Giles’ uneasiness at the fact that Council records seemed to have visible gaps and the existence of hunters was previously unknown to them. The Council prided itself at being abreast of all things supernatural and such a lapse was unforgivable. Nevertheless, Buffy trusted Winchesters and she wanted Giles to trust them too. Letting Giles impart whatever information he’d gleaned to the young hunter seemed like an obvious first step.

Unhappy that she was forced to wear the same blue suit she’d thought she’d banished to her closet for good, Buffy straightened the collar of the silk shirt that refused to sit properly against the navy fabric. Telling herself that this was a means to an end, she finally opted to distract herself by asking Dean the question she’d been keeping to herself since they’d met.

“So,” Buffy said as they drove down Massachusetts, “what’s wrong with Sam?”

Dean shot her a quick glance away from the road before facing front again. “What do you mean?” He asked, feigning ignorance even though he knew perfectly well what she was talking about.

“Come on, I’m not blind,” she said giving him a withering look that said clearly she wasn’t stupid so stop treating her life she was. “It’s pretty obvious he’s sick and he’s been that way since before our detour to hell last night. What’s wrong with him?”

Dean stiffened. He didn’t want to talk about Sam’s condition. So far, he’s managed to convince himself that Sam was okay and that his condition was temporary. When the trials were done, his Sammy would bounce back like he always did. Except in the back of his mind, Cas’ warning about Sam frayed at the edge of that belief. The trials were affecting Sam on a level that was beyond even Cas’ ability to repair. Worse yet, Dean could see just how badly Sam was deteriorating in front of his eyes.

Buffy calling him out on it meant that it was a truth he could no longer deny.

“He’ll be okay once the trials are done.” Dean returned gruffly.

“The trials?” Buffy asked, refusing to let the subject go now that she’d gotten something out of him. She hadn’t seen any reference to any trials in John Winchester’s diary but then he’d only let her read it the night before. There hadn’t been the opportunity to scour it from cover to cover.

“Yeah the trials,” Dean snapped, not wanting to discuss it with her but guessed rightly that she’d bug him until he gave it up. “Look long story short, we found these angel tablets that give us instructions from God on how to drop kick every demon son of a bitch back to hell and closing the gates on them for good. To do that, we gotta perform these three trials to complete the spell. I was supposed to do them but thanks to a big friggin’ screw up, Sammy got stuck with it. Every time he does a trial, it takes a lot out of him. Once it’s done, Sammy will be fine.”

Even Buffy could see that Dean didn’t believe that one bit.

“What are they?” Buffy asked, steering them to a safer question rather than the one that explained how Sam was the one to get tapped and not Dean. Just by the clenching of Dean’s jaw, Buffy could tell this was a sore point. She’d only known him for days but by the way he’d spat out the words, it was clear he felt incredibly guilty that Sam had taken his place and was suffering the physical toll. As an older sibling charged to protect a younger one, Buffy could relate. It were Dawn, she’d be in the same state.

Dean went on to explain the details of the first two trials which involved the killing of a hellhound and bathing in its blood followed by the rescue of an innocent soul from hell. It all sounded terribly gruesome but very much in keeping with the biblical nature of Sam and Dean’s experiences with demons and angels. For once, she was grateful that the worst she'd had to deal with was Glory. Not that was any picnic either. 

“Each time he does it,” Dean sighed, allowing his worry to show once he turned the Impala off Massachusetts Drive into the mall parking lot where the store was located. “He gets weaker.”

Buffy frowned, saying nothing at first as she contemplated these trials. It was clear they were meant to be undertaken by someone who was more than mere mortal, someone who stronger and more durable than a human; someone like a slayer. Once again, Buffy wondered how the Watcher Council could have missed knowing about, resulting in Sam and Dean, two normal humans to carry the burden of what should have fallen to a Slayer. “Is it too late for someone else to do them?” She asked after a long pause.

Dean didn’t look at her. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But we’ve have to start from scratch and we were damn lucky to walk a soul out of hell, we won’t get that chance to do it again. Trust me, if I could find some way back into hell to do that, I’d let Sammy off the hook in a heartbeat.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Buffy retorted rolling her eyes, “I meant _me._ ”

He shot her a look that showed her he was clearly not on board with that idea.

“Don’t give me that face,” Buffy countered that incredulous expression he’d just thrown her way.at the mere suggestion. “You said it yourself that it’s hurting Sam. It’s probably because it wasn’t meant to be done by an everyday human. This sounds like something that should have been carried out by a Slayer. I’m stronger and I can heal faster. Maybe, maybe it’s something I should do.”

“Well we’ve been getting the job done without Slayers,” Dean pointed out. “Us good ol’ boys do know a thing or two.” He disliked how being ordinary now meant _weaker_.

“Don’t be a jerk,” she dismissed his snark promptly in the same manner she dealt with a petulant teenager which he could sometimes be, Buffy decided. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean that I can heal faster and maybe this thing won’t affect me as badly as it’s affecting Sam.”

Dean swallowed down his annoyance because she was staring at him with genuine concern for Sam and Dean was never able to be mad at anyone who cared for his brother as much as he. Until he'd seen for himself how rapidly she healed, Dean had thought this Slayer thing was overrated. However, aside from her strength, the injuries she’d received fighting Angelus and then Michael and Lucifer in the cage were almost completely healed. She could probably could handle it better than either he or Sam but that didn’t mean Dean was about to let her try. While he appreciated the sentiment, he was no less prepare to sacrifice her as he was Sam. 

“It’s too late Councillor,” Dean spoke in a calmer tone as he sought out a free space to park the car inside the concrete parking structure. “The hellhound thing we might be able to recreate but getting into hell and bringing someone out? We were lucky to get in the first place. No way would Crowley, the bastard in charge of hell, will let us sneak through a second time. Our best bet to help Sammy is to let him see this thing through. ”

Buffy nodded, unhappy at where that left Sam and by the look on Dean’s face, she wasn’t the only one.

******

They were almost to the front of the store when Dean’s cell phone rang. Reaching into his jacket, he extracted the device to see that it was Sam’s number on the display. Gesturing at Buffy to hold off going into the place, Dean held the phone his ear.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice greeted him when he pressed the receive button.

“Hey Sammy, what’s up?” Dean asked, hoping that Sam might have managed to identify the cube through researching on the internet. It would be far safer if they knew what they were dealing with. 

“I got a hold of Diane Lee,” Sam announced quashing that hope. “I think we’re definitely on the right track with the cube. Apparently, Sherman was afraid of vampire films.”

“Seriously?” Dean made a face at Buffy who looked at him with puzzlement.

“Yeah apparently he and his friends snuck into a screening of _Nosferatu_ when he was kid and it scared the crap out of him. Hasn’t watched one since.”

“Well at least he was spared the Twilight films,” Dean quipped. “Okay, we’ll get in touch with Terry Sherman after we check out the cube. You rest up, order pizza and watch porn. Buffy’s got cable.”

“HEY!” Dean smirked as he heard her outraged exclamation next to him.

“Nice Dean,” Sam shook his head and then answered, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He hung up just in time to be swatted across the shoulder by Buffy who was giving him a look of contempt. Dean laughed at her pouty expression. Like Sam, she was fun to mess with.

“What?” He claimed ignorance even though he knew exactly what his sin had been.

Filling Buffy in as they walked into the store, they found the place near empty. It was getting on in the day and Dean guessed the antiquing crowd probably liked to do their shopping early. Once again, they were assaulted by the scent of old books and dust. If you lit a match up in here, the place would probably go up like a candle. As they approached the counter where a cash register that looked like one of those from an old western, there was no sign of the owner. Maybe the guy was out back or maybe, Dean thought suspiciously, _maybe he’d even seen them and decided to get scarce._

“Well if he ain’t around, I say let’s not rock the boat,” Dean told Buffy, “I saw we find it, grab it…so to speak…and head back to your place. Once we’re there, we can figure out whether it’s our cursed object and what to do with it, if it is.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Buffy agreed, already leaving him behind at the counter and making her way through the narrow passageways that wound through the store like an ant farm. 

Dean followed her, flanked by display cases and shelves full of stuff that he couldn’t believe people paid money for, let alone showed off proudly in their homes. Everything in the place had the potential for disaster. This whole joint was cursed object heaven.

“I never get why people want this crap,” Dean commented, looking at the collection of dusty vases, old books and painted porcelain with distaste.

“My mom used to say it’s about creating a sense of immortality,” Buffy remarked offhandedly as she continued walking, her eyes scanning everything so she didn't walk past the thing. “Touching a piece of history so that you become part of it, for the next person to remember.”

“Huh,” Dean shrugged. “Never thought of it that way.”

“Come on,” she glanced over her shoulder as she turned a corner, “don’t you want to leave that car of yours to Dean Junior some day? It’s the _same_ thing.”

“There’s never going to be a Dean Junior Counsellor,” Dean replied, “I won’t live that long.”

The certainty in which he said those words made her stop and turn around to look at him. When their eyes met, Buffy saw the resignation in his, even sadness. He had surrendered so completely to the life he led, he could see nothing else, couldn’t see anything better. Her heart ached for Dean at that understanding because she hadn’t given up that hope, not really. Xander had his daughter, Willow and Kennedy were adopting and even though she was still alone, Buffy liked to think it was still in the cards for her. However, the futility in his eyes seemed set in stone and she wished she could make him see otherwise.

“You might,” she countered gently. 

“I won’t.” Dean stated, his certainty not wavering. He'd tried it with Lisa and hadn't been able to make it work. In the end, all he could do was let her and Ben go. When that had happened, Dean decided that he'd never have the life he wanted and had to be satisfied with the one he had. 

“You will,” Buffy insisted with equal certainty because she wanted it for him. Not because she might have her own selfish reasons but because he _deserved_ it. That sadness was one she was familiar with. In a vampire, it had felt bad enough because there was no way for Angel that didn’t end in death. However, in a human like Dean, she refused to believe that it was impossible even if he believed it was. With a wink, she tapped his chest, “I won’t let you skip out early if I can help it.”

And before he could argue with her, she was off and Dean could do nothing but follow her. _Crazy chick_ , he thought but he thought it while he was smiling. 

******

The cube was exactly where she and Sam had seen it the day before.

It sat atop of the display cabinet with the rest of the bric-à-brac looking as harmless as the ballerina figurine and the football trophy collecting dust next to it. The cube had been returned in its original shape, hiding the within its three dimensional walls. As Buffy had described it before, it was a little thing that could fit easily into someone’s palm. Gilded in gold with designs that looked like symbols but not so much that he could decipher them, Dean stared at the markings and thought he saw something familiar though he couldn't determine exactly what.

“That’s it, huh?” Dean remarked as he leaned forward and studied it for a few seconds before straightening up again. He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and removed a set of latex gloves. Pulling them onto his hands, he had no idea whether this would work or not. However, if contact with flesh was what set this thing off, then he’d take every precaution he could. 

"Let’s hope this works better than condoms…you know like 99 percent effective?”

“God Winchester!” Buffy shot him an aghast look, unable to believe he’d just said that. “Gross.”

“How can you gank vamps and monsters the way you do and still sound you should be collecting unicorn stickers and princess dolls?” Dean teased as he leaned forward to pick up the cube.

"You are such a boy," She snorted and turned her nose up, indicating she was having no more part of this conversation. 

"I'm all man baby," he winked, aware that this banter was as good as foreplay where she was concerned. "Now get your phone out and send a picture of this to Sam. That will give him something more to go on. Then I say we get this thing out of here and go lock it down at your place. Just in case the gloves don’t work, the last thing I want is for my worst fear to show up when I’m not near Sam.”

 

“Gotcha,” Buffy tended to agree, considering that Sam would almost certainly be involved in Dean's worst nightmare. She was already extracting her phone from her own handbag to aim it at Dean. The phone captured the image of the older Winchester and the cube in all its perfect pixelated glory and Buffy immediately sent to Sam via text. Now he'd have an image to study and to search against, she thought with satisfaction. 

“I say we take this thing with us or go bury it somewhere if we can’t destroy it,” Dean declared as he held the cube in his hand, studying it closely as if his intense gaze would be enough to unlock the mystery of it. 

“Well maybe we should try buying it first,” Buffy pointed out, preferring to go the route that avoided a felony. “I mean if its sitting out here in the showroom, it must be for sale with the rest of the stock. The antique store guy probably doesn’t even know what it does.”

“I’m afraid I do,” the man said stepping out of the shadows, “and the God of the Razor Realm can’t allow that.”

"The God of the what?" Dean started to say when the man started singing in a language that sounded like gibberish. 

_“Karahnia Stahs ohla varayna discara unas celea mokturna.”_

Dean had heard enough Latin and enough words from ancient languages to recognise their origins were but the lyrics being sung by the antique store owner was a complete mystery. The words sounded like verses of a funeral dirge or Gregorian chant. It felt sombre and cold, sending a chill through Dean’s spine as he heard it.

Suddenly the cube came to life in his palm. Light poured out of the groves in its ornate design.

“Drop it Dean!” Buffy ordered and Dean did not hesitate to let it go, knowing some serious shit was happening. 

It landed heavily against the hardwood floor, with an impact that felt like an anvil dropping from a great height. The walls seemed to quake, furniture shuddered and figurines shattered into a thousand pieces after they’d fallen of their perches. The violence of the impact felt like the tremor of an earthquake, making them both lose their balance. As they struggled to regain their footing, the cube on the floor began to open all on its own. As if compelled by the song being sun, it twisted and turned on its own and then unfolded as Sam had done when he’d discovered the correct sequence. 

Except this time, the dance of the misshapen figure within was performed to music emanating from the cube that both Buffy and Dean could hear.

“I’ve seen this part of the movie,” Dean grabbed her hand, his experience entering Purgatory and this situation felt all too similar. “Come on we’re _leaving_!” 

“What?” She stared at him in question. “Why?”

Dean never had a chance to answer her because the figure in the middle of the cube twirled and as it twirled, a curtain of brilliant blinding white light swept across everything in the store, including them.

And when it was gone so were Buffy and Dean.

******

Sam had fallen asleep. 

He woke up when he heard someone at the door.

Sitting upright on the sofa, he realised that he was in the dark with only the illumination from the muted television screen offering him any visibility. Outside the window, he saw that it was dark and a quick glance at the clock on the wall indicated it was almost ten o’clock. He’d taken some pain killers a few hours ago and had dozed off, expecting to be awakened in some juvenile way by Dean when he got back. However as his focus began to sharpen, Sam realised two things. One, Dean and Buffy hadn’t come back yet and thanks to the clock, he knew they’d been gone since this afternoon. 

The repeated jiggle of the front door knob returned his attention to the here and now. Even though it was likely Buffy behind that door, Sam’s instincts made him reach for the ’45 that was resting on the coffee table next to his laptop. It was habit and even if the threat was benign, John Winchester had taught his sons to take nothing for granted. Gun aimed at the door until he knew otherwise, Sam watched as the door cracked open and a hand fumbled for the light switch. 

The light flooded the room and instead of Buffy and Dean, Sam found himself staring at a woman with dark hair, full red lips and equally expressive brown eyes. 

“Whoa there pardner!” She said raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t shoot, I’m on your side!”

“Really?” Sam demanded sceptically as she held position and he was able to get a better look at her. She was a little thing, petite but full of compact muscles barely concealed beneath tight leather jeans, a red tank top and leather riding coat that swirled around her ankle boots. She was what Dean would describe as being ‘smoking hot’. As he stared at her, Sam realised he’d seen her before and then recalled she was one of the faces he’s seen in the photographs scattered around Buffy’s home. 

At this point, Sam had come to the conclusion that he was most likely pulling a gun on one of Buffy’s friends and instantly lowered the weapon in embarrassment to start apologising. “Look I’m sorry, I thought you were Buffy or Dean.” 

“That’s a hell of a greeting you got there for your friends then,” she teased, her eyes dancing in amusement. 

“Well not I don’t usually greet people like that…” Sam spat out a stuttered response and secretly thanked God that Dean wasn’t here. Sam would never hear the end of it. 

“It’s okay hot stuff, didn’t mean to get you all antsy,” she said closing the door behind her and dropping her backpack onto the floor, her eyes never leaving him. 

_Hot stuff?_ The comment threw him and he could never deal with women who threw such overt forward passes in his direction. Fortunately shy and awkward worked well for him too. Sam watched her and found himself somewhat transfixed. She moved like a jungle cat stalking her prey moving effortlessly through the tall grass unseen. 

She was a Slayer, Sam thought automatically. A very different kind than Buffy but a slayer nevertheless. “I’m not antsy,” he composed himself to reply. “Just a little surprised.”

“Surprises keep life interesting,” she winked as she lowered herself onto the arm chair and leaned forward extending a hand out. “I’m Faith and I’m guessing you’re one of Queen B’s houseguests? Sam?”

Surprised that she knew of him, Sam nodded and shook her hand back. “Yeah I’m Sam,” he extended his hand. “Sam Winchester.” 

“Nice to meet you Sammy,” she and then leaned back into the arm chair, crossing her legs on the coffee table. “Giles called me and said B might need some help down here.”

 _Sammy?_ Sam would have protested except there was something in the way that she said it that made it hard for him to object. Shaking his head clear of the thought, Sam replied, “He was supposed to call me.” However, in retrospect he supposed he could understand why Giles might have difficulty entrusting him with information, even if Buffy had vouched for him and Dean. 

“Don’t take it personal,” Faith shrugged. “The Watcher Man has trust issues and he worries about Buffy in a daddy kind of way. Besides, it’s been awhile since B’s been in the game and Giles figured she could use the back up. I was finishing up dusting some vamps in Amarillo so it wasn’t any trouble for me to drop by.” 

Once again, Sam reminded himself not to take offense although he did point out the obvious. “She had back up, my brother’s with her.” 

“Don’t get ruffled Sammy,” Faith said smiling at him. “Giles is always a little nervous when it comes to B and the opposite sex. Girl does only one thing better than slaying and that’s picking the wrong guy.”

“My brother is not the wrong guy,” Sam objected immediately to Dean being painted with that assumption. He could see there was something deeper going on between his brother and Buffy. True Dean could be the wrong guy when the mood took him but Sam was certain it was not the case this time. As he thought about Dean and Buffy, he was once again reminded that they weren’t here. 

“They’ve been gone awhile,” he met Faith’s gaze and there was just enough of a frown on his face for her to react. 

“How long is awhile?” Faith asked, sitting up straight. 

"Hours," Sam answered grimly. "Last time I heard from them was at the antique store. They took a picture of the thing. I've been researching it all afternoon but I've come up with nothing. I was hoping that your Giles might have had something more."

"Giles is still checking it out," Faith leaned over and took the phone in her hand. She examined the picture and raised her brown eyes to his. "This has bad news written all over it."

"It probably does," Sam frowned, "but I can't decipher it. It’s in no language I've ever seen."

"Okay, where is this place?" She asked suddenly standing up. 

"You're going there alone?"

"Don't get He-Man on me Sammy," she smiled. "It takes down your cute a couple of notches."

Sam stared at her trying to come up with an appropriate response and could only stutter, "It’s not that...I mean... we don't know what the situation is. You could be walking into the same thing they did. If they walked in on anything _at all_."

"Look Bs a bit rusty but that’s not going to get in the way of her following the ps and qs of slaying. She knows better than to go AWOL unless your brother's got powers of persuasion I don't know about."

Dean seemed to think so, Sam thought when it came to the opposite sex but this was different. “Dean knows better than to go silent without checking in. He’d know I'd worry." Sam admitted. 

"That's it then," Faith answered staring to move. "I'll see you later Sammy."

Sam forced himself to stand up and grab her arm. He was still aching like hell and he’d most likely need more painkillers before he left the house but there was no way in hell he was going to let this girl go after Dean and Buffy alone if they were in trouble. "I'm coming with you."

"Nice try," Faith glanced at the hand on her bicep and shook her head, gesturing to the bandages on his arm. "You're not in the shape for it."

"I'll be fine," Sam said resolutely not about to be deterred. "I'm going."

"Don't make me get rough," Faith leaned in, a teasing look on her face even though she was deadly serious. She could put him down easily. 

"I _like_ rough," Sam countered with as much determination.

Faith pulled back grinning, "baby brother’s got a dark side huh? Okay Sammy, if we're going to ride together. You better keep up."

"I've got stamina," he returned with the same innuendo.

"Not like mine Sammy," she winked. "Not like mine."


	12. Chapter 12

After four years of dealing with angel crap, there was one thing Dean Winchester recognised immediately; how it felt to be _teleported._

The instant the blinding white light had enveloped him and Buffy, Dean just _knew_. Of course, knowing this didn't mean he could do jack to change it or the crap fest they now found themselves. He'd felt the similar sucking sensation in his gut and then as if a light switch had been flicked off, the light vanished and there was only darkness in its wake. The air was forced out of his lungs, leaving a sense of disorientation that resembled an extreme case of vertigo. He sank to his knees, forgetting for the moment that Buffy's hand was still gripped tightly in his or that he had brought her to the floor with him. In retrospect, it didn’t really matter because the important thing was they were still together. He couldn’t be sure of that being the case if he had let go of her. 

When the spinning stopped, his knees were screaming in protest at being pressed up against a hard, cold floor. With one hand bracing himself against the surface, the cold that travelled up his arm told Dean that it wasn't wood. It was some kind of black stone...obsidian....Sammy's voice echoed in his head. There was little light and the air was crisp like the sterile air one associated with hospitals or churches. He didn't know which was worse. It felt wrong and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, poised for revelation of some unspoken horror. 

"Buffy," he finally spoke, gripping her hand tighter and taking unbelievable comfort in feeling the warmth of her skin against his. 

She didn't answer immediately, prompting him to turn to her and finding that even though her hand was in his, she was lying on her side against the floor, her hair spilled over the black slate, having broken free of the constricted bun she'd worn playing the FBI agent. She looked out it and panic surged through him at the possibility that she might be affected worse than him. That didn’t make sense, he countered immediately. She was the Slayer. 

He’d seen how fast she healed, how much strength she had. Was it possible that he was handling better because of his 'trips' with Cas or maybe that there was something about her 'slayerness' that didn't react well to this place. Whatever the reason, he was gripped with the same heart pounding fear her felt whenever he saw Sammy hurt. 

"Buffy," he leaned over and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t react to his voice and that just made Dean feel more anxious. “Come on Sweetheart,” he coaxed gently, “give me a sign here."

Dean pleaded, brushing her cheek with his fingertips, hoping the contact might give jostle her back to consciousness. After only a few days of knowing her, how much Dean cared for Buffy scared the hell out of him. Not since Lisa and maybe even Cassie before that, had Dean felt such an intense connection to any woman. Furthermore, with this one, there was the possibility of a relationship that did not have to end because he was afraid he couldn’t protect her. 

After a few seconds, Dean was rewarded with Buffy’s face contracting into a grimace as if consciousness hurt. When she fluttered her eyelids open, green eyes stared at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. Dean was so relieved to see that she was alright, he was pulling her to him before she even had a chance to speak, enveloping her slight frame within his arms. For a moment, he thought that bastard in the antique store had done something to her and they were so far away from help that he’d lose her if he couldn’t get her to it. 

"Glad you're still with me," he said gratefully, his eyes brushing hers with tenderness. 

Buffy's head was swimming and her slayer senses so often sharper than anything felt as if every neuron in her head had been scrambled and she was still struggling to pull them back together again. She gasped audibly at the sensation of being held up in his arms, relishing the pleasure of his strong chest pressing against hers so tightly she could hear his heart pounding against her own. Buffy allowed herself to be swallowed by his concern and she hugged him back, relishing the strength and passion he was channelling to her form his own forceful will. Dean was like a force of nature and it had been so long since Buffy had been able to commend herself to anyone who could make her feel everything would be okay even when it was not. 

"What happened?" She asked softly when her equilibrium was restored and she was strong enough to draw away from him to look at his face. 

"We've been teleported," Dean answered, having no doubt of that fact. " _That_ I know. Everything else, not so much. I wanted to see how you were doing first. Can you stand?" He asked gently. 

The cold floor and the ache of her flesh pressed against the hard surface told Buffy that everything was working because she could _feel_ it. “Yeah, I’m good" she answered and tried her legs by attempting to stand. 

He got up off the floor with her, eyes very much fixed on Buffy, ensuring that that he only let go of her hand when he was convinced she could stand up on her own. Only then did Dean turn his attention to where they had materialised. He knew before he had even looked, that they were nowhere near the antique store, what he wasn’t prepared for; was how sinister their new environment would appear. 

They were in a corridor almost thirty feet across. In front and behind them, the corridor disappeared into the distance until they couldn’t see where it began or ended. The walls that flanked them on either side was made of the same dark stone. It was as if the whole construction was carved out of a gigantic slab of stone. The walls on either side of them ran at least fifteen feet high with no roof. And above their heads, the sky was moonless and dark. Dean felt his breath catch when he saw no stars, not a single one, not even clouds that might have obscured him. Dean had spent enough times stargazing from the roof of the Impala to know there was nowhere you could go on the planet and not see stars. 

"Where the hell are we?" Buffy asked, retrieving the handbag that was lying on the floor next to her, her tone subdued as if she was afraid of breaking the silence or worse yet, getting an answer. 

"I don't know," Dean replied but then he remembered what that spooky son of bitch had said to them before the lightshow had started. The God of the Razor Realm. Was this it? What the hell did that mean? Was there a deity roaming the halls of this creepy place, looking for them? "Let's keep moving anyway," Dean suggested, deciding that until he knew for certain, there was no point worrying her. Besides, his time in Purgatory had taught him one thing; it was never wise to stand still in one place. 

"Yeah, good idea," Buffy nodded, trying to hide how freaked she was out about this place. Something about it was playing havoc with her slayer senses. In the early days, before she had become more in tuned and in control of her slayer senses, she'd felt the supernatural most acutely. They'd manifested themselves as cramps at first because it she was untrained but eventually thanks to her training with Giles, she honed it to the point where she could feel it like a sixth sense. Right now, that sixth sense was telling her that they were in a place so unnatural it could not cope. 

"Son of a bitch probably hit us with some kind of dream spell," Dean spoke, just to break the interminable silence which felt like icicles against his spine. "Me and Sam drank this tea made of African Dream Root. It tasted like total ass but it allowed us to moon walk in each other's dreams. Real creepy shit for sure but maybe that’s what this is." 

"So you’re saying we’re now lying on the floor of that antique store, drooling like idiots?" Buffy declared, her expression souring as she looked up and down the corridor before facing him again. "Terrific, he's probably dismembering us as we speak." 

"Way to keep some optimism there Counsellor,"' Dean shot her a look. "He's more likely stashing us somewhere until he can deal with us without being seen. It was still daytime when he zapped us so store’s still open. We got a bit of time. Besides, when we don't check in, Sam will come looking."

"Sam's in no shape to take this guy on," Buffy pointed out, "and who knows, he might end up in the same place we are."

That was not a pleasant picture she’d painted but Dean had faith in his brother. Even if Sam wasn’t a hundred percent, his brother knew better than to rush in blindly to rescue them. If he figured out they were in trouble, he’d get back up. Of course that back up was Garth. These were the moments when Dean really missed Bobby. 

"Sam's gotten me out of tighter spots," Dean assured her and himself, "He'll figure something out. Meanwhile, we can try and make our own way out of here."

Realising that defeatist attitude was helping no one at this point, Buffy reminded herself that _she_ was the slayer and he was the ordinary human. She ought to be the one making him feel better but instead he was playing, being strong man comforting little blond girl. How the hell did she let herself fall into that role? Then again, when it came to Dean Winchester, Buffy was learning that it was kind of nice to let him take the reins (to a point) because he felt an equal, not someone she had to protect. That was part of Dean’s charm, Buffy decided. The man had no limits, or didn't believe that he had any. She admired him for that and at the same time wanted to drop kick him to the other side of the planet. 

"Right,” Buffy stated confidently, deciding that it was time to start acting like the slayer not some wussy girl that needed him to hold her hand. "So assuming this is a dream, there's always an escape hatch right? Kind of like red pill, blue pill?"

“Eh…more like follow the white rabbit, " Dean countered, “Although right now, I’d take either.” Still he was pleased she was rebounding from the earlier disorientation and sounding more like herself again. 

“Just call me Alice,” Buffy quipped but her gaze had shifted away from him and was surveying their surrounding with laser like precision. She was taking in everything; from the texture of the walls, to the ends they couldn’t see and the lack of stars in the sky. 

“Only if you were wear the sexy Halloween costume that goes with it,” Dean winked.

“You’re a dork,” she laughed faintly, guessing he was trying to cheer her up because their situation, even if it was a dream, seemed bleak. 

“Yeah but I’m fun to be around,” he grinned before scanning the place himself, though Dean was less subtle about it. After the last year, Dean knew how to survive in adverse environments and making do with what he got. However, he suspected that Buffy despite all the fights she had in her life, had never been placed in a situation where she was cut off from everything she knew and forced to survive on nothing but her wits. 

“That’s one way to put it,” she glanced at him coyly when suddenly she noticed something that made her arm shoot out across his chest, halting him in his tracks. “I see something. Stay here.” She ordered and started jogging forward. 

Dean rolled his eyes as she went on ahead and muttered under his breath as he took off after her, “Yeah that’s going to happen.” 

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw Dean following. _Well it was worth a try,_ she thought to herself as she closed the distance between herself and the ‘something’ she had seen. Nearing it, she was able to make out the indistinct shape that was coming into focus as a person beneath the indigo light. Not just a person but a _child_. 

The little girl stepped out from the shadow of the wall and stared at Buffy with intense blue eyes. She was a child of no more than seven years old. She stood there staring hard at Buffy, her arms handing limply to her sides as she waited for the Slayer to reach her. She had black hair, held in place by a red hair band and dressed in a navy pinafore, with white trim on the hem of her skirt. Beneath it, she wore a white shirt with a Peter Pan collar along with white stockings and patent black Mary Janes. She looked like one of those kids that went to Catholic school. 

She stared at Buffy with soulful dark eyes, her pink lips quivering in fear. 

Her obvious fear made Buffy soften her approach. “Oh hey there sweetie? How did you get here honey?” Buffy flashed her a sympathetic smile. 

Dean slowed when he saw her closing in on the girl and wanted to warn Buffy to approach with caution but she was already within arm’s length and cajoling the child forward. Instinctively, his hand reached around his waist, to the Colt he had tucked in the back of his pants. Even when wearing this monkey suit, he and Sam never travelled without some form of protection. Particularly in recent years with angels and demons popping up around every corner like meerkats. 

“I’m lost…” the waif spoke in a pitiful voice engendering all kinds of sympathy. “Where’s my mommy?”

“Oh it’s okay sweetie,” Buffy held out her arms and the child slipped into her embrace readily, wanting to be held. “We’ll take care of you,” Buffy assured the girl gently. 

“Uh Counsellor…” Dean wanted to warn her it was too late now. _Women_ , he cursed under his breath, they lost all good sense when it came to kids, puppies and shoes.

While still hugging Buffy, the girl raised her head to Dean as she caught sight of him reaching them. Her skin was so pale it reflected what little light there was in this place to make her face look almost luminescent. Her eyes held Dean for a second before her face split into a wide grin that could only be considered unsettling before she flashed her teeth at Dean. 

They were triangular shaped serrated _knives_. 

“BUFFY!” He barked in warning, going for his gun as the girl lowered her neck to take a bite out of the slayer’s neck. 

Years of dealing with vampires who could trick you with such disarming guises kicked Buffy’s reflexes into action. Utilising lightning fast agility that had not slowed even after three years, Buffy shoved the girl off her as soon as she heard Dean’s panicked cry. The force of it sent the girl stumbling backwards and she landed heavily on her rump when she was unable to halt herself. Furious at being thwarted, she glared at Buffy and unleashed a shrill cry of indignation that sounded like the banshee’s wail.   
When her screeched melted away, her faced changed and the child’s eyes morphed into tiny mouths with same sharp teeth. They were chomping at her, making a clacking sound that felt like nail against a chalk board. The girl extended her arm outwards, posing them in the same way as she had done when she had plied for Buffy’s embrace, except her arms, weren’t arms any longer. The flesh had morphed into the cold polished steel of long, sharp butcher knives and her fingers had disappeared into tapered points. Her legs transformed in the same way, the shoes and stockings replaced by steel. When she took a step forward, she looked like a ballet dancer on tip toes. It was grotesquely graceful. 

“Don’t you want to take care of me?” The girl extended her arm. “Don’t you want to hug me?”

“Holy crap,” Dean swore under his breath when he reached Buffy who was too horrified to say anything. 

The child lunged at Buffy and Dean her bladed arms, flaying wildly at them like some kitchen appliance gone mad. Both Buffy and Dean leapt out of the way to avoid being slashed to ribbons. As she barrelled through them. Dean rolled across the floor and onto his knee, pulling out his gun and taking aim on the girl who had her back to him. It was Buffy she was going for first and that gave Dean a narrow margin of time to act. The girl continued to swing her bladed arms at Buffy, driving the slayer backwards in an effort to avoid the deadly swish of blades. 

“HEY T1000!” Dean shouted at the little bitch, trying to draw her attention away from Buffy. 

She ignored him though Dean saw Buffy’s gaze averting to his briefly as another swipe cut through the front of her jacket, a button skittering across the hard floor as it splayed open, revealing the white shirt beneath. She wasn’t hurt but it was a close miss. Wanting to give Buffy time some slack to get clear, Dean took careful aim and fired a single shot at the girl’s head. It was the only part of her other than her torso that was still flesh. The bullet slammed into her temple, her neck snapping sharply to one side like it was on hinges. Brain matter sprayed across the black walls but there was no blood, just dark greenish ooze that looked like ectoplasm. 

The girl froze in her tracks and turned her head towards him. He saw the ragged hole that was on the other side of her face and she glared at him, those freaky eyes chomping while she opened her mouth and screamed again. The sound cut through his ears and he flinched as she started running towards him. 

Buffy wasted no time with the opportunity Dean had given her. She skidded towards the handbag she had dropped trying to evade the girl and reached inside her. Rummaging through it, it was less than a second before she extracted the folded blade that she had tucked in there before she’d left the house for the antique store. It was made from silver and almost eight inches in length. It had been custom made for her by Giles and was easier to explain than a wooden stake. It was also effective on more than just vampires. Since Sunnydale, Buffy had learned that there were meaner things than vampires out there and the predominant characteristic they all seemed to share was their hatred of silver. 

“That wasn’t nice,” the girl hissed at Dean and lunged at him, with her blade/hand extended. 

He got out of the way and slammed an elbow against her back, causing her to topple forward. She landed on her hands and kicked out her leg, the sharp point slicing across Dean’s side. He groaned in pain, feeling blood spilling out from the gash. Dean staggered back in pain but maintained presence of mind to raise his gun and fire, this time, hitting her torso. Two bullets penetrated the dark pinafore and only the slick ooze saturating the entry points showed Dean that he had actually hurt her. She spun around on one leg and up righted herself with surprising ease. 

“Get clear,” Buffy ordered and shoved Dean aside as the girl came at him again. 

Dean turned around to see Buffy engage the monster, he’d stopped calling it a girl when the bitch cut him. She ducked smoothly when the creature slashed at her, delivering a side kick so straight, it connected beneath the flaying arm blades and propelled the monster away from her. It managed to keep from falling, regaining its balance by pivoting on one pointed leg before swinging about like a mathematical compass. Buffy leapt back to avoid being cut in half by the thing as it corrected its stance once more. 

Clutching his bleeding side, he watched Buffy fight. In Purgatory, he’d struggled for a year to survive against creatures that defied reason in their savagery and knew he was a better hunter than he’d ever been but Buffy was born to it in a way Dean could never be. When she’d fought Angelus, it was a display of brute strength that he could appreciate since that was what he’d been forced to employ over the years. However, now as she fought this overgrown Jinsu knife, he saw a different kind of skill at work. It was almost graceful and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little awe watching her fight. 

The creature continued to slash at Buffy but Buffy deflected every blow with her own knife, ensuring nothing made contact with her flesh. As she fought, something awakened in her, something that had been sleeping for three years she hadn’t even realised she’d missed. She slashed at the creature, her slayers senses becoming sharper and stronger with each blow she delivered and each attack she avoided. Three years ago, she’d walked away from the life and Buffy realised, she’d been in a holding pattern, hiding from who she was. 

She wasn’t just a slayer but _the_ Slayer. The Chosen One. 

“DEAN!” She hollered over her shoulder, “my handbag! Now!”

Dean did it without questioning the fact that she had ordered him to get her purse like he was some pussy whipped husband. It was lying on the floor near his feet. He grabbed it and tossed it to her. 

Buffy caught the leather hand bag, now considerably lighter, with one hand and dropped to her knees. She swung it around the creature’s bladed legs, snagging one foot and then yanked back hard. Legs swept from under her, the girl crashed on the floor and Buffy was on her in a second. Without giving the creature a chance to react, Buffy swung the knife once with all the strength she could muster. 

Dean watched the girl’s head roll across the floor, coming to a stop at the base of the wall. As her head detached, her body collapsed, her clothes fluttering emptily. The blades which had been her limbs clattered noisily against the floor. Dean saw Buffy prodding at the clothes with the tip of her knife. Nothing moved. When she was satisfied that the creature was dead, she turned back to him, her face etched with concern when Dean realised she was seeing the blood on his shirt. 

“You’re hurt!” She exclaimed hurrying to him. 

“I’m okay,” he assured her. Actually the wound hurt like a son of a bitch and the blood soaking through his shirt and pants told him it was deep but he was not going to whine about it like a bitch. Leaning against a section of wall, he started unbuttoning the shirt so that he could get a better look at the damage.

“Yeah right,” she retorted, not believing him for a second. Handbag still in hand, she got down on knee so that should could examine him. 

“Hey while you’re down there and if you want to make me feel better…” Dean smirked while waggling his eyebrows suggestively. In truth, he was in pain but he sure as hell not showing it to her. After seeing her fight, he felt almost ineffectual.

“Really?” She gave him a withering look and then proceeded to help him with unbuttoning his shirt so that she could examine his wound. Parting the soiled fabric from his stomach, Buffy winced at the sight of the injury. He’d been cut quite deeply beneath the ribs. She couldn’t tell if any organs had been damaged but he needed stitches, that much was clear.

“It feels like a flesh wound from here,” Dean remarked, grimacing when he felt her fingers probing lightly at the cut flesh. “Is it?”

“A pretty severe one,” Buffy frowned while agreeing with his assessment. It was hard to see in this light and she wished she’d packed a torch. “Can you stand for a bit? The light’s not so good and I can’t see that well so I need to be up close.”

“I can stand,” Dean said, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes to manage the pain while she prodded at him, “do what you have to.” 

“Okay,” Buffy nodded and rifled through her handbag. She didn’t have a first aid kit as such in it but she carried a few loose items that would serve in a pinch. “I’m going to seal this up until we get home and I can call Cari again.”

“Sure,” he grunted while keeping a look out to ensure they weren’t ambushed by any other freaky monster. “That was pretty awesome knife you’re packing.” 

“Thanks,” Buffy remarked as she pulled a pack of tissues out and started cleaning the wound as best as she could. “I saw one like it in the store a couple of years ago. An _Espada_ something I think.” 

“I’ve seen it,” Dean replied knowing the model she was talking about. He had something similar in the boot of the Impala, “the 60NX?”

“That’s the one,” Buffy confirmed, tossing aside the blood soaked tissues and reaching for the tube of crazy glue in one of the pockets of her bag. “I gave Giles the specs and told him I wanted one custom made with a completely silver blade. It fits in my handbag easily or against my leg in a sheath. Less conspicuous than carrying around a stake.” She said as a matter of factly.

She was _awesome_ , Dean decided. 

“That crazy glue?” Dean asked when he saw her squeezing the contents of the tube into his wound. 

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, applying the clear adhesive between the cracks of torn flesh as much as possible. 

“Good call,” Dean winced again as she filled the wound then pressed his flesh together with her fingers and thumb to ensure it sealed. Dean threw his head back and clamped his eyes shut to keep from crying out in pain. It had to be done however, he knew that. Crazy glue was the next best thing to getting actual stitches and it would keep him from bleeding out any further. “Sam and I buy that stuff by the crate. I always thought chick’s handbags didn’t have anything useful in them….” He finished with another hiss. 

“I’m done,” she said finally, buttoning up his shirt. Buffy stood up and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Do you need a minute? We should get moving. I don’t know what the hell that thing that was but I’m guessing it’s an opening act.” 

“Yeah I’m with you on that,” Dean agreed and then added. “I’m fine, I’ve had worse.” 

And he had. He could tell her about Purgatory and the crap he’d been through that year, running and fighting to stay alive, while killing everything with teeth, fangs and claws hunting him. This, was benign in comparison.

“You sure?” She stared at him with concern. 

Seeing him bleed had driven home to her that he was a normal human who didn’t have her recuperating abilities, despite the fact he pitted himself against monsters for most of his life. While she tried not let her feelings for him run away with her, Buffy could not deny she cared a lot for Dean Winchester and didn’t want to risk his life for anything. However, he wasn’t the kind of guy who took protection from a girl very well, since he was as alpha male as they came so she didn’t want to over emphasize her worry for him. 

“Hey I’m okay,” Dean raised a hand to her cheek and held her gaze for a second because he saw the fear in her green eyes. It made his heart swell seeing the depth of her affection for him. Leaning forward, he captured her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. “Takes more than some Jinsu baby to put me down. I’m harder to kill than a New York cockroach.” He winked at her cockily. 

Buffy savoured his taste on her lips, losing herself a moment in the kiss. Had the timing been right, she’d have shown him just how much she cared but the timing wasn’t right and their lives were still in danger. Licking her lips when she pulled away from him, she said softly. “Well don’t get yourself killed, I kind of like having you around.” 

Dean smiled because this felt like they were saying something to each other that meant more than the playful banter they were exchanging. Like they were claiming each other in a way neither had dared to do with another person before. It wasn’t anything as binding as commitment but it felt lasting nonetheless, like a promise to be in each other’s world from this point forward. 

“I like having you around too,” Dean admitted softly, his voice lacking the usual flippancy or cocky arrogance. “You were unbelievably hot when you were kicking that thing’s ass. I didn’t understand the whole slayer thing before but seeing you action, I get it. This is what you are.” 

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded with agreement. “I think it is too. I thought I could walk away but when I’m fighting, I feel alive, like this is what I’m supposed to do.” 

“I know the feeling,” Dean said pushing away from the wall and heading towards the creature’s remains. Bending down on one knee, he grunted in pain and reminded himself that he needed to be careful how he exerted himself. Crazy glue wasn’t a permanent fix to his injuries and he still needed patching up when they got out of here. For now, he had to take care to last as long as he could at her side. 

“What are you doing?” She asked puzzled. 

Dean picked up one of the blades that had been the little girl’s arm and lifted it up carefully, examining the edge. “Making use of the native surroundings.” He grinned and tucked it under his arm. “I want to be ready for anything else they throw at us. Grab one Sweetheart,” he nodded at the pile of blades and winked, “let’s hunt some orc.” 

Dear God, it was possible she was falling in love with the hottest nerd alive.


	13. Chapter 13

Once Faith had realised that Sam Winchester was not about to let her go off on her own, they’d borrowed Buffy’s car and driven back to the shopping mall on Massachusetts Drive. As expected at this hour of night, all the stores were closed but they managed to drive into the underground parking lot beneath the mall where they’d found the Impala waiting impatiently for Dean to return. 

The fact that the Impala was languishing in a public lot like this, where it could be towed away or subject to the ministrations of a car thief was proof enough for Sam that Dean and Buffy were in trouble. There was no way in hell Dean would leave his car alone like this without good reason. That and the fact that neither he nor Faith had been able to reach the duo cells proved that some was very wrong.

“Your bro’s got a nice ride Sammy,” Faith complimented as she ran her palm across the smooth finish of the Impala’s paintwork. 

“She’s Dean’s baby,” Sam remarked as he used a Slim Jim made from a metal ruler to open the driver’s side door. Once inside, he could use the spare set of keys that Dean had stashed beneath the driver’s seat in case of emergencies. Not that Sam planned to drive the Impala anywhere just. At this moment, he was only interested in getting to the trunk of the vehicle to grab some weapons. 

“It was our dad’s car,” Sam continued to explain. “Dad gave it to Dean on when he turned sixteen. It’s probably the closest he’s gotten to having a long term relationship. He’d stroke out if anything happened to it.” 

In truth, Sam would be similarly upset if anything happened to Impala. However, unlike Dean, Sam wasn’t as biased to the vehicle’s flaws as his brother. As far as Sam was concerned, the thing had some serious miles on it and was lousy on gas, however, Fate decreed any car owned by a Winchester that wasn’t the Impala was destined to be destroyed in some freak accident. 

“That close huh?” Faith chuckled sensing some ire in Sam’s voice but she was on big brother’s side on this one. Faith who liked good ol’ fashioned American shared the older Winchester’s love for the automobile. It was a muscle car that had been kept in cherry condition, reminding her a great deal of the T-Bird that was the ride of a choice for a certain vampire with a soul who had been her mentor and friend. “I can relate.”

When the car lock popped up with a muted click on the other side of the window, Sam immediately reached for the handle and opened to the door climb into the front seat. Searching beneath the leather seat, it took but a few seconds for his fingers to feel the key that had been fastened in place there. Once he had it, Sam emerged from the vehicle and looked across the roof of the car at Faith who was waiting almost as impatient as the abandoned car. Like his brother, Faith was ready to dive in and find Buffy and Dean. Sam suspected that it was part of her make up to stake first and ask questions later.

Sam headed towards the trunk of the car and glanced as she joined him there. Before he opened the trunk, he stared at her, “Okay assuming they’re in trouble and not somewhere getting up close and personal, we get answers first and foremost right?”

“Of course,” Faith replied coyly, wearing an expression of complete innocence that she had ever intended anything else. “Can I at least break a few of the antique store guy’s bones before I make him talk?” She batted her lashes at Sam, wearing a smirk on her lips. 

“Uh no,” Sam rolled his eyes, “it’s been my experience that people tend to get pissed and uncooperative when you start breaking bones. Let’s try talking to him first and if he jerks us around, then you can break something.” Sam preferred more civilised methods of extracting information but he wasn’t freaking Ghandi either. 

“Ooh Sammy,” Faith winked at him, “you just know how to get to a girl right here.” She thumped her chest once.

Still finding it odd that he didn’t mind her calling him Sammy, Sam lifted the trunk door and revealed the arsenal stashed there. The load had lightened considerably since Dean mounted some of the weapons on the walls of his room at the Bat Cave…Sam rolled his eyes, unable to believe they had taken to calling the place that….but it was still an impressive cache. There were shotguns, flare guns, tasers, crossbows and various types of knives, not to mention iron bars, bags of salt and hex bags. Everything the modern hunter needed to battle whatever evil that crept his way. 

“Oh…my… Sammy,” Faith purred as she leaned in closer to examine the weapons arrayed before her. Giles had gave her the skinny about these ‘hunters’ that Buffy had stumbled across and Faith had assumed, these were amateurs trying to play at demon slayers. However, seeing what was in the trunk of the Impala, Faith had to admit these guys might know their stuff. “I think you’ve just made all my girl parts quiver. Very nice.”

“Uh yeah we try to prepare for everything,” Sam managed to answer after clearing his throat. 

Nor not the first time that evening, Sam told himself that the girl was merely flirting and not really interested in him. She probably treated all the men she met this way. However, Sam couldn’t deny that he was becoming more and more attracted to Faith. Even though right now was the worst possible time he could have chosen to be interested in anyone. Unfortunately, he knew his weakness for strong, self-assured women. Jess, Madison, Ruby and the latest being Amelia. Still Faith seemed to be in a class all by herself. 

Forcing himself to stay on point, he added, “the problem is, we don’t know what we’re facing.” 

“We can't dwell on it Sammy, B and D don’t have that much time for us to figure it out. Just grab what makes the biggest splat and let’s go. Time’s a wasting.” 

She was right; Sam decided. They had to move and now. 

Sam couldn’t be preoccupied with the guilt trip he was secretly nursing unbeknownst to Faith. He kept thinking he should have been there with Dean and was convinced that Dean had tried to go easy on him by partnering with Buffy. For once, being attracted to the girl was not the sole reason Dean had chosen to ditch him. As it was, Sam was still blaming himself for not searching for Dean after his brother had vanished a year ago following the defeat of Dick Roman. He'd given Dean up for dead moved on, giving up the hunt and leaving friends and family to fend for themselves. 

It seemed that no matter what he did, he’d always be the guy that let people down. 

*****

When they finally reached it, the antique store was already closed. Sam had expected it since it was past trading hours and the mall was locked up for the night. Fortunately, Sam had enough experience with picking the locks on the security gate to gain access to the building. Staring through the glass façade that made up the frontage of the store, there was no sign of life in the darkened premises save for a candle that sat on one of the shelves. It had been left burning and Sam guessed it was some form of mystical protection. Other than that, there was no movement to indicate anyone was there, not even a crack of light from the back room where the owner might retreat to manage the day’s takings. 

This was not going to stop either of them from investigating further. As far as Sam was concerned; if the Impala was still here then so were Buffy and Dean. They had just to be found. 

"We need to get in there," Sam declared, moving to the front door while clutching the backpack filled with everything needed to deal with this menace whatever it was. 

"I’m hip to that,” Faith agreed readily. “You find a shady spot to hide your face while I take out that security cameras there.” She gestured to the device that was mounted on the wall two stores further along the row of shops. "I’m guessing that places like this will only play back the footage if someone gets broken into. Still, I don’t want the rent-a-cops catching sight of us." 

Sam was on board with that but had an addendum to make regarding her instruction. “You get the camera and I’ll get the door and make sure we don't trip any mystical alarms or wards that might give us away when we go in.”

Damn, he knew his stuff, Faith thought quietly. “Five by five,” she winked at him before heading off. 

Turning his back to her, Sam went to work on the lock. It wasn’t terrible complicated and once through, he made sure he severed the wires linking the door to the alarm so he and Faith didn’t trip in entering the premises. Once through, he scanned the immediate area and saw a couple of objects that could be used as protective and warding spells. The candle Sam had seen earlier was red and surrounded by herbs, possibly Asafoetida or Hawthorne. Its counter was simple enough; a shield spell that would allow him to disable the ward. 

_“Infinitarius naturae prodire, scutum prep veneficium abl terci….”_ “Sam chanted the words and the candle immediately extinguished. He spent the next two minutes neutralising the other wards in the place before it was safe enough to proceed further. Once he was done, he peered through the door to see where Faith had gone. 

“Faith!" Sam hissed when he didn’t see her. 

“Relax Sammy,” she revealed herself a second later, having hidden perfectly within the shadows of the deepened doorway of an amenities room further along the walkway. “I’m here.” 

“I’ve taken care of the spells,” he explained as he held open the door for her. 

Faith darted in quickly and Sam followed, closing the door behind him and giving one last scan of the area to ensure no one had seen them enter. They moved deeper into the store, until the light from the outside diminished to the point where they were in near pitch black darkness. 

“Wait a second,” he said quietly and fumbled through his backpack. A second later and he thrust the cool metal of a flashlight in her hand and took one for himself. 

“Boy scout much?” Faith teased as she flicked on the torch. 

“I like to be prepared,” Sam shrugged in the darkness. Sam was used to doing the prep work when he and Dean were on the hunt. “Come on,” he gestured past the counter to the meandering aisles that ran like a maze through the store. 

"God I hate these places," Faith complained as she frowned distastefully at the creepy dolls and dust collecting figurines and statues. “It’s like having a giant garage sale for all kinds of evil junk. You just know every time someone gets their face burnt off or throat slashed is because they bought some ugly ass piece of crap that came from a place like this." 

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her for a second. The words could have come from Dean, he thought. Then again, thinking that the girl he was seriously attracted to, had a lot of his brother’s characteristics was just plain traumatizing. Like reading that Wincest stuff on the Carver Edlund’s fan site didn’t do that already. 

"Yeah that seems to be the pattern,” Sam couldn’t deny that statement. “It’s a pity that we can’t tell people that old and vintaged can also mean cursed object and fatal.” He pause a moment and swept the torch over the space in front of him. “Okay, Buffy and I saw the cube just up ahead.” He told her. 

"You really think that this is the big bad?" Faith asked aware that there was still some uncertainty on this point. 

"It’s the only thing that seems to connect us,” Sam answered. “It would explain the only thing that seems to connect. Besides, if there is even the slightest chance that this is the thing and we can save any more people from getting hurt, I’m willing to give it a shot.” 

“Huh,” Faith remarked, the flashlight beam resting on his face as she stared at him. Those words were so familiar that if the light hadn’t been on his face, she would have thought someone else had said them. Someone she loved and had been unable to save. 

“What?” Sam blinked, wondering why she was holding the torch on him light that. 

“Nothing,” Faith said lowering the beam and smiling to herself in the dark. If he had been able to see, he would have found that the smile was nothing like seductive smirks she'd tossed his way since they'd met. This smile was subtle and meaningful. "You just kind of remind me of someone."

From her tone, Sam guessed right away it was someone no longer living. "Is that a good thing?" He asked gently. 

“Yeah,” Faith nodded, feeling moisture in her eyes that was so not her. She didn’t get doe eyed and misty like B, she was made of stronger stuff than that or so Faith often told herself that. “It’s a good thing, he was a good guy.” 

_“Was._ “He’d called it right. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. Sam had a feeling that Faith didn’t care for people lightly and whomever this person was she lost, the cut had been deep and possibly still open.

"Me too," she said shaking off the moment, not wanting to dwell when they had a job to do. 

Sam nodded and continued searching. Scouring the shelves, he tried to remember exactly where he had seen it. Not an easy thing to do even with the torch and he was conscious that they might be seen by mall security. The last thing Sam needed was to be hauled in by the cops. After the whole leviathan mess, he wasn't entirely sure if he and Dean were still wanted and had no desire to find out first hand. 

Whether or not Sam knew it, Faith was already doing just that very thing. She was keeping a vigil not just for mall security but for the mysterious owner of this store. While the store may appear empty, she was not about to drop her guard and get waylaid by the guy if he was capable of taking out B and Sam’s apparently capable brother Dean. Faith didn’t say it out loud but the man's absence unsettled her. It meant that he could be somewhere with Buffy and Dean, doing God only knew what to them. 

Suddenly, Sam stopped so suddenly that Faith bumped into him. Damn, he was a solid, Faith thought pulling away from him. “What’s up?”

Sam stared at a shelf, greeted by an outline of dust where the cube had been. He checked the area where they were standing to confirm that he was in the right place. With a sinking feeling, Sam knew he was. “It’s gone,” he exclaimed, disappointment exuding from each word.

"Are you sure this is right place?" Faith asked. 

"I'm sure it is," Sam declared firmly. "This is it."' The frustration in his voice spoke volumes to his fear about this meant for Buffy and Dean. 

“Hey,” she touched his arm, “we’ll find it okay? We’ll find it and then we’ll fine B and your bro. If the cube isn’t here and neither is the guy, then I say we check out his office and find out where he hangs his hat at night. Then we can pay him a little house call.”

“Right,” Sam nodded and was actually inclined to let Faith break as many bones as she liked to find out what had happened to Dean and Buffy. 

*****

“Watch out!” Buffy shouted. 

The ghoul came at Dean with arms outstretched, inadvertently pushing him backwards. Dean landed hard, uttering a groan of pain as he hit the stone surface with his ass, the shockwave sending pain up his spine to the rest of his body. The walking corpse, with its pale skin and gunky teeth gnashing with anticipation, rushed to reach him before he could get up. Planning on being no one’s meal, Dean recovered quickly, tilting his body and smashing the ball of his foot against the ghoul’s belly to gain him a few precious seconds. 

The strategy worked with the creature tumbling a few steps back. Taking advantage of the ghoul’s momentary distraction, Dean retrieved the blade that had fallen out of his hands when the creature first attacked. He’d fashioned a make shift hilt out of a ripped section of his shirt so he could handle it like a sword. Wrapping his hand around the hilt, Dean jumped to his feet by the time the ghoul renewed its attack. Ready for it this time, Dean swung the blade in a neat arm, slicing through the monster’s neck and decapitating with one powerful blow. 

Black blood splattered over his already ruined shirt. Wiping a smattering of it from his face, he barely had time to recoup when another ghoul ambushed him from behind. The instant Dean felt the cold flesh on his shoulder, he reacted instinctively, grabbing its bony arm and using his momentum to flip it onto its back. The creature growled in outrage when it slammed against the floor in front of Dean. Once again, Dean acted swiftly, hacking at the monster repeatedly, until the body beneath him was a grisly pile of gore and black ooze. 

Another kill accomplished, Dean raised his head to see how Buffy was faring. He found her engaged in combat with her own ghoul, displaying the same savage ferocity that he felt when he'd been fighting. Strewn around her were the remnants of other ghouls she already killed. As she fought, Dean couldn’t help but feeling the familiar awe of watching her fight, watching as she took on one ghoul after another, a perfect engine of coordination dressed up in a cute blond package. 

She wielded the blade like a sword and she did it with far more artistry than he. Buffy maintained perfect control of her weapon, dropping to a knee to stab the creature in front of her through the belly, before retracting and delivering a high kick that caught it on the chin. While it reeled from the blow, she landed on both feet and swung her body around like a dancer performing a pirouette cleaving the thing in half across the sternum. The monster’s arms went limp and fell apart like wet meat, each part squelching sickly when they landed. 

With the last ghoul dispatched for now, Dean found himself relaxing a little until the next onslaught came upon them. The mystery of how these creatures were finding their way to Buffy and Dean was solved after they’d seen how the ghouls had arrived. They had come from the same place as the little girl. From the walls. They stepped out of the walls like they were stepping out from behind the curtain and Dean had no doubt that as long as they were here, that’s how the God of the Razor Realm would be sending his monsters after them. 

“This is the last time I let you pick where we go on a date,” Dean joked as he wiped away a glob of something wet he had no wish to identify from his face with his sleeve. 

Buffy looked own at herself and groaned with disgust. She was similarly filthy and knew that when they got back to the world, she’d be showering for a week to get rid of the stench. Lowering the blade, she took in the sight of him, covered in blood and viscera and let out an exasperated groan. “Is it possible for the two of us to go _anywhere_ together without something or someone dying? What is that?” 

“Foreplay?” Dean said cockily, a leer on his face.

It was ridiculous. Being here was no laughing matter and he ought to be scared shitless but he wasn’t. He's spent a year in Purgatory, fighting and killing everything in sight to stay alive that upon returning to the world, he had no idea what normal anymore and yet right now, at this moment, he was enjoyng it. In Purgatory, there had been a purity in the hunting of monsters. There was no doubt or hesitation as to what needed to be done. No shades of grey, no deals or unexpected consequences, just the fight. Dean had found it simpler and now in this place which was so much like Purgatory, he felt invigorated because he was ready for anything it could throw at him. 

“Oh my God,” her eyes became wide as saucers as she saw the almost gleeful look on his face. “You’re enjoying this!” She pointed an accusing finger at him, her mouth agape in astonishment. 

“Of course not,” Dean feigned ignorance and stared back her like she was crazy when in actual truth, she’d hit the nail right on the head. “In this place, are you nuts?” 

“I am not!” Buffy declared, incredulous. “You are enjoying this! You like mayhem and violence!” She didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed that he was coping with this nightmare so well. Most civilians would have lost their minds by now but Dean looked as much in his element as she. She didn’t know whether she ought to be disturbed or not. What was worse, she shared a little of the euphoria he was feeling.

“I don’t like mayhem and violence,” he protested and then added, “but you got to admit that its kind of liberating getting into a fight where all you need to worry is ganking the monster.” 

“You are insane!” She exclaimed exasperated as she retrieved her discarded handbag and started rifling through it. “You’re insane and I’m insane for lik….” She kept herself from finishing the sentence because she did not want to make his head any bigger than it already was. 

“Insane for what?” He eyed her closely, guessing what she had almost said but couldn’t help not teasing her about it. “For _liking_ me?” 

Buffy shoved him and continued searching through her handbag even though it was a given that he was right. Worse yet, it was a rush being here with him because she didn't have to protect him or worry that he couldn't handle himself. Instead with Dean, they were fighting side by side, two warriors in their element engaged in a battle against incredible odds, watching each other's back. Trying not to blush because her body was attuned to his in such an intimate way, she met his gaze directly and declared, “Look we are getting out of here. I don’t want you going all Conan on me and wanting to stay here.” 

"You mean the barbarian right? Not the talk show host?" He joked. 

"Dean!" She burst out ready to strangle him. 

Laughing at her reaction, he assured her in a more serious note because she did have valid concerns. “Counsellor, you have zero reason to worry about me going off the reservation. I want to get out of here as much as you do but I'm just saying that at least when we're killing monsters here, it’s all pure, you know? I mean haven’t you run into situations where it wasn’t always as simple as putting down the bad guy? That there are complications and consequences that make it hard to figure out what the right thing to do is? Here, there's none of that. Just kill or be killed.” 

Buffy looked away guiltily because she did feel that. Over the years, she’d had experiences that changed the basic tenets of what she'd been taught and made it harder to slay indiscriminately. For starters, what Dean considered a demon and what Buffy did were two very different things. His demons were humans possessed by evil spirits that had biblical origins, not to mention some of them were full on freaking fallen angel. Meanwhile hers consisted of so many different varieties that it was hard to think of them spirits when they needed no vessel and had bodies of their own. Furthermore, they weren't _all_ evil. 

After reading John Winchester's diary, she had to ask the question if they were demons at all or were they merely members of different species originating from other dimensions. It would certainly make sense when one thought of demons like Clem, Lorne and Merl. Even Glory had come from another dimension. During her attempt to get home, she’d almost brought down the walls of reality, showing Buffy how many dimensions they were, dimensions with different types of beings that existed within the wider tapestry of creation. 

“Okay maybe once or twice,” Buffy conceded the point but nothing else because right now, she wanted to do him against the wall because the after effects of a fight like this was heightened libido. Fortunately, she had more self control than Faith and concentrated on what she was searching for in her bag. 

"Here," she handed him a moist towellette from the pack she had kept for emergencies purposes. 

Dean took the wet wipe and stared at her with a brow raised. “You got wet wipes in your handbag?” He asked curiously and leaned forward, trying to peer into it to see what other stuff she might have “what else have you got in there?” 

“Don’t change the subject,” she bit back at him, suspecting he had a way of 'handling' her that infuriated Buffy to no end. “We are in a life and death situation here. I don’t want you going all alpha male because you’re some kind of adrenaline junkie.” 

Taking an experimental whiff of the wipe and after deciding it didn't smell too douchey, Dean cleaned off his face and responded to her statement. "I’m not some danger junkie okay? I just like good, straight up fights and I'm guessing you do too.” More than ever Dean recognised Buffy as a kindred spirit, who understood what they were built for even if the realisation wasn't always pleasant. 

She couldn’t deny his words. Wiping as much of the blood as she could off her face, Buffy knew she missed the fight and worse yet, she missed the clean fights that he'd pointed out. It felt good to unleash the full force of her aggression, pent up for three years due to her 'normal' existence. Until she had come to this place and was forced to fight, Buffy didn’t realise how much she missed it and now wondered when they left this place, if she could live without it again.

Or live without fighting by Dean's side again.


	14. Chapter 14

There were moments when Sam Winchester wondered if his whole life was a punch line to a joke no one had told him.

He stared through the window of the Impala at the home belonging to one William Scheckly, owner of the Antiquities Store and wondered what game Fate choosing was playing on him now. William Scheckly’s house, with the large tree in the front yard and the fire damage concealed by years of renovation was the same house that where Mary Winchester had burned alive thirty years ago. It was the same house that four year old Dean had run out of carrying him, the same one where the Yellow Eyed Demon, later known as Azazel, had given Sam his first taste of demon blood.

“Dean’s just gonna love this,” Sam muttered his breath, his eyes fixed on the house in front of him. Lights were glowing through the windows, an indicator to all comers that Scheckly was at home. The question to be answered now was whether or not Buffy and Dean were in there too.

Once he’d discovered the cube was gone, Sam and Faith had found the office located at the rear or the store and then proceeded to go through it in search of clues to its origins before they went after the thing again. While there was no record of where the cube had come from, Sam was able to conduct some research on the net later and learn something about its owner and where he now lived. It didn’t take Sam to recognise that the cube’s owner might be as much of a mystery as the object itself.

Until nine years ago, William Scheckly had no history.

There was no record of where he’d been born, of his parents or how he’d manage to live. The first official record of his existence was an employment record at Wal-Mart in Southern California. Following that, he’d worked at a number of jobs, usually at antique stores or more exotically in occult and Wiccan supply stores. He never stayed long in town and moved from San Diego, San Bernardino and then Los Angeles. After Los Angeles, Scheckly had moved further inland.

He’s settled in Lawrence only recently, opening the Antiquities Store in the newly vacated space at the mall and bought himself a house. Even though it could be purely coincidence that he had chosen that particular house to occupy, Sam was not that optimistic. Eight years ago, Missouri Moseley had claimed that the home's dark past attracted supernatural elements to it. Even though they'd cleansed it of the spirits that resided there, including that of Mary Winchester, there was no guarantee that evil wouldn’t gravitate to the place anyway.

If Scheckly’s cube was responsible for the deaths of Warren Benson and Bob Sherman, then it would appear the house still possessed enough malevolent energy to draw similar entities to it.

Sam wondered what had happed to the family who resided at the house when he and Dean had last visited. Jenny and her two children had been trying to make a new start only to find their home haunted. Had it been too strange living in a house that had almost killed her and her family? Sam couldn’t blame the woman if she’d opted to sell up and move elsewhere and made a mental note to put a call to Missouri and find out for sure when this was over.

“We just going to sit in here Sammy?” Faith finally spoke, disrupting the flow of his reflective thoughts.

Faith stared at the younger Winchester, watching him think his broody thoughts about his home and what had gone down there. When he’d first revealed the history of Scheckly’s new home, Faith had been more than ready to volunteer that let her do the heavy lifting on this one. After all, there was no reason for Sam to reopen old wounds by coming with her. However, the hunter was stubborn and insistent and while Faith considered convincing him with a right hook, she realised she had no right to dissuade him when it was so personal.

Besides, she admired the stones on him for daring to revisit his family home after his mom had gotten toasted there by a demon.

“No we’re going in,” Sam stated firmly, glancing at her briefly before he reached for the car door to get out. “It’s just that Dean and I haven’t been year in eight years. If this is where Scheckly had brought him and Buffy, he’s going to be really pissed when he gets free. We thought we'd cleansed the house the last time we were here, there was a poltergeist haunting," he explained. "We hoped that people could live it in again but it just looks like some evil bastard is always going to be drawn to it.”

Faith merely nodded in understanding as she climbed out of the car and looked at him from across the roof of the car. She wanted to offer some words of sympathy but she just never did sympathy well. Still, Faith had her fair share of tragedy and she understood his bitterness. It was never going back to the places in one's past and learning that time didn't heal all wounds and some would never be redeemed no matter how much one tried to make it otherwise.

Finally she opted for something that wasn't quite sympathy but showed she got what he was saying. "So let's go get this asshole and rattle him hard until he shakes off B and your bro."

Her words might appear blasé but her eyes spoke volumes. Sam was rather touched by the layer she'd just shown him that was contrary to the flirty, casual vibe she gave out. "Thanks," he replied genuinely grateful and then decided to dispel any awkwardness by moving onto business and laying down some ground rules. Faith's interrogation methods screamed 'break first, questions later' and Sam knew enough to know that never worked...well not all the time.

"I say we try and talk to him first," Sam suggested as they crossed the road to the side walk running past the house. "He still thinks I’m FBI so I can get through the door. You sneak in through the back while I keep him busy and see if you can’t look around. I know this house, there’s not a lot of places he could he hide them. If he really doesn’t know anything about the cube, then he might have sold it to someone who does."

Faith was shaking her head even before he got the words out. "My Spidey sense is telling me he’s our guy but we’ll play it your way just to be sure. I’ll do recon and you can decide if he's giving us the run around or not." Faith replied, agreeing namely because she'd had this argument so many times before with Buffy after going in smart, instead of head first without real information.

As much as he might want to give the man the benefit of the doubt, Sam suspected that Faith was right; this guy knew exactly where Buffy and Dean had gone. However, before they resorted to torturing a human, Sam wanted to ensure they'd tried to reason with him first. "Thanks," he said appreciating her restraint on his behalf.

Faith gestured at Sam that he should try the front door first, while she covered the back. He nodded in agreement to her plan and Faith cut across the lawn, making for the fence while ensuring there was no movement at the curtains that would give her stealth approach away. Leaving Sam behind she had to admit, he was nothing like she'd imagined.

When Giles had asked her to back up B, Faith had been reluctant. While they're relationship was never as close as the kind Buffy shared with Willow, she and Faith had reached a kind of friendship based on mutual respect and understanding of each other's 'slayerness'. It felt like questioning B's ability to handle herself by checking up on her and Faith didn't want to provoke any enmity that might damage their carefully constructed friendship.

Still, Giles had made some good points. Buffy had been retired for three years, she was teaming up with 'hunters', a previously unknown element in their battle against supernatural creatures and even more alarming, there was every indicating that Buffy was romantically involved in at least one of them. After Angel, Buffy's ability to pick the wrong guy was infamous and Faith had decided it couldn’t hurt to just drop by and check the guy out.

What she hadn't expected to find that Buffy's guy had a baby brother who reminded Faith a hell of a lot of Angel.

Faith had loved Angel, not in the way Buffy loved him obviously, but she loved him nonetheless. He was her friend and mentor, the only person who dared to look past her crap to see how lonely and frightened she was. In the midst of her despair, when she had hit the very rock bottom of her entire existence, the vampire with a soul had shown Faith how to restore her own. Everything she'd become since then, she owed to him. When Faith had learned he died in Los Angeles, she had wept openly for not being there for him and not telling him what he meant to her even though Angel would be the first to tell her he already knew.

Sam Winchester, with his brooding, unassuming and somewhat straight-laced manner, reminded her of Angel. He bore the same moral core, the same empathy for people and she suspected by the way he clammed up at times, that there was something in his past he was trying to overcome, something that needed redemption. Faith who had made all the wrong choices until it had led her to the very brink of disaster could relate.

*****

While Sam was willing to try the reasoned approach, he wasn’t above beating it out of the man necessary. Nor was he complacent with the fact that Scheckly may not be a man at all. There had been too many times when a monster had worn a human face and this one was no exception. The lack of history for the man prior to nine years ago, certainly meant that Scheckly had gone to great lengths to hide his past or didn’t have one at all. 

Life as a Winchester had taught Sam to never take anyone at face value. Ruby had taught him that to lasting effect.

Coming up to the front door, he heard voices and guessed it was a television screen by the flickering of light through the windows. Sam reached for the fake badge in his jacket, buttoning it up to hide the sawn off shot gun and the blades strapped to his arm and his leg.

William Scheckly opened the door and took Sam’s presence at his doorstep with little surprise. If anything, Sam almost felt he was expected.

“Agent Sambora isn’t it?” The man asked politely.

“Yes that’s right,” Sam replied promptly, playing the part of the G-man with appropriate authority, “I’m sorry to bother you at your home but we’ve had a break in the case and I think you may be able help us. May we talk inside?”

“Of course,” Scheckly answered amiably and retreated into the house. Whether or not he bought the excuse, Sam could not say however Scheckly did not hesitate to open his home to Sam as he waited for the supposed FBI agent to step through the doorway.

Sam followed Scheckly in the parlour, trying not to appear obvious as he scanned the rooms on route. The house remained very much the same as when he and Dean were last there eight year ago. There was notable differences in decor since the place was previously occupied by a woman with children and was now home to a middle-aged bachelor. Bright, pastel colours had been replaced with comfortable, earthy tones kept the place as homely as before.

Once inside the parlour, Scheckly immediately muted the volume on the television set now that he had a guest.

"Please sit down,"' he gestured to a comfortable brown leather arm chair in the corner of the room, a companion piece to the lounge that he lowered himself into as he waited for Sam to settle himself.

"You had a break, you say?" Scheckly asked.

"Yes," Sam answered with a nod, conscious that Faith was at this moment, sneaking into the place through some alternate means. "It appears that all the victims might have handled an object in your store. I wonder if it’s still in stock or has it been sold?"

"Really?" Scheckly showed no signs of anxiety. "Which object would this be? As you can imagine, I have quite the collection.” There was no bragging in his tone, just a statement of fact.

"It’s a puzzle cube," Sam replied automatically, watching Scheckly closely for any reaction. "I saw it there myself yesterday. It opens up to show a dancing figure but the mechanism that makes the music is damaged."

"Yes its curious isn't it?" Scheckly smiled baring impossibly white teeth and a grin wide enough to split his face in half and made Sam think of a Batman villain just looking at him. "The music is only heard when a sacrifice is required and then the doorway to the other world appears." Then he added quickly before Sam asked more questions, "So I was told by the merchant I bought it from."

Sam didn't think that there was another merchant and the mention of sacrifices and the other world sent a chill down his spine as to what fate might be intended for Buffy and Deana and what was this talk about another world? Exactly where had Dean and Buffy gone? "Other world?" He asked calmly, betraying nothing.

“The Razor Realm," Scheckly explained, understanding now that this boy was no FBI agent but played along with the charade for the moment. "There is no greater conjurer of fear and degradation than the human animal. In the waking world our base desires, the most succulent of our primate needs and violent pleasures are trapped by convention of propriety and supposed civilised behaviours. Only when we sleep are we truly free to be the animal, freed of all inhibition, freed of our fears. Every terrible thing we imagine is given life in our dreams and once life is given, it cannot be taken away. The Lord of the Razor Realm knows this and so he bring them to him, he gives them a home. All fears lead to him and that that is the power of the Razor Realm.”

"He takes nightmares?" Sam swallowed, not liking what this meant one damn bit. “Which ones?"

Scheckly flashed Sam that same malevolent grin and then answered, “Why all of them of course."

******

**Author’s Note – this section is VERY NC-17, proceed at your peril :)**

Buffy didn’t know how Dean managed it.

It felt like they’d been doing this for days even though they had been trapped in this strange place for only a few hours. Their bodies seemed to be in a state of limbo as they felt neither hungry nor thirsty, despite the fact that it had been hours since either of them had been given nourishment. The only constant in this place had been the monsters that emerged at regular intervals for them to fight. Freakish little girls, ghouls, vampires, creatures so bizarre that no name could be put to them, had appeared out of the wall since their arrival, attempting to kill them.

Buffy’s own slayer endurance was starting to feel the strain and she was frankly quite astonished at how Dean was still on his feet. Earlier she had accused him of enjoying this nightmare however, she had time to change her mind on that belief. It wasn’t that he enjoyed it; it was more that he was born to it. Dean seemed in his element in a way Buffy had never felt, even as the Slayer. Hunting as he called it was what he did best and as she saw him fight, without any special abilities, taking blows and then delivering them, she had to admit he was as capable of any slayer or vampire she had fought alongside of.

Their latest enemy had been horrifying creatures that looked like something out of HR Geiger’s mind. Tentacles, sharp teeth and phallic looking appendages that made her skin crawl even as she hacked them to bits and pieces. She and Dean had developed a kind of rapport fighting and they watched each other’s back. He’d used their makeshift blades to fight even though he had a gun but he’d said he wanted to save those for something they truly couldn’t handle and while Buffy didn’t want to know what that was, she understood the reasoning.

Dean brought down the blade across the elongated head of the creature. He’d only managed to get the drop on it after hacking off part of its leg, beneath the joint of what appeared to be its knee cap. The creature screeched, its eyeless head swivelling in Dean’s direction, splattering green, slime across his shirt as the blade tore through its grey flesh. The head slid to the ground like a piece of sliced fruit, hitting the dark floor with a loud sickly splat. Dean’s eyes lifted to Buffy’s once the monster was dead, reassuring himself that she was alright.

Buffy’s arm was bleeding, one of the creature’s deadly claws having ripped through her blouse and across her bicep. The blood had soaked through her white shirt but the pain was already starting to fade. Even though he knew she healed fast, he didn’t like the idea of seeing her hurt. Dean had become accustomed to her resiliency, relying on it because that meant she could take care of herself. 

“Hey you okay…” he started to say when Buffy rushed at him.

“Catch me!” Buffy shouted and jumped at him. Dean caught her under the arms but Buffy had twisted her body so that her feet had landed on the wall. Holding on to him, Buffy used the support he provided to run along the wall so that she could swing herself at the creature that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere to ambush Dean from behind. Her booted feet slammed into the side of the monster's head, dislodging it from the wall and propelled it to the ground in tangle of limbs and tail.

Dean realised what she was doing and kept a firm grip of her beneath the arms, flipping her across his back when she'd delivered her blow and then swung her around him like they were doing an old fashioned jitterbug from the 40's. Fred and Ginger, eat your fucking heart out, Dean thought with a grin as she landed smoothly in his arms again while hers were coiled around his neck. It was hot as hell and as Dean saw the darkened blue of her eyes, he guessed she thought so too. 

The creature, shaking its head to dispel its disorientation, scrambled to its feet and lunged at them. Acting on pure instinct and unaware that they were acting as one, Dean and Buffy flashed their blades at the same time. He flung his weapon at the thing, the sword/blade striking the creature in the middle of its misshapen skull, while Buffy slashed it open in mid-thorax. It approached no further than that, collapsing in a dead heap less than two feet away from them, green blood and viscera spurting out from multiple wounds.

Neither Buffy nor Dean spoke for a few moments as they clung to each other, breathing hard and staring at the grisly aftermath of this latest melee. Both were still panting, the adrenaline rush of the battle had yet to subside in either one of them. As they looked at each other, Buffy could feel the familiar surge of primitive lust that overtook her once she had finished the kill. Unlike Faith, she'd always had a handle on her ability to maintain control but in this place, when they were two warriors fighting for survival with nothing but each other to rely on, it was impossible to dispel. 

Whether or not, Dean knew what was in her mind, Buffy could not say but without warning, though not unwelcomed, he pulled her forward suddenly to capture her mouth in a brutal but passionate kiss. It was nothing like the tendered, feathered exchange in her backyard. This was raw, hungry and so consuming that she had no defence against it. Swept away by the ferocious tide of his desire, Buffy felt her head swim, the neurons in her brain misfiring as she tried to regain control but Dean was having none of it. He was a force of nature and she was firmly in his grip. 

He didn't know what he had been thinking when he kissed her, knowing only that he had to. This place unleashed him in a way he hadn't feel free since returning from Purgatory. Dean knew he was riding the high that came from being able to kill every evil son of a bitch they threw at him. He was in his element here, revelling in the knowledge that he was finally doing what he was best at, what the last thirty years had moulded him into; the best goddamn hunter there was. 

Riding that euphoria, Dean plundered Buffy's mouth, ignoring her surprise and her momentary hesitation because he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. They were kindred spirits the both of them, warriors on the battlefield who could find solace with each other in the eye of the storm. He wanted her to know that, wanted her to understand that he had her back, that all she had to do was call and he'd be there. Whether or not she realised it yet, Dean knew he was her creature. After this, how could he be anything else?

Dean always thought his place was looking after Sam but Sam had made it clear in the last year that the feeling wasn't mutual, that someday he wanted a life that was far removed from the one they shared now. Dean hadn't understood why at first but eventually he remembered he'd once wanted a normal life for Sam too. The years of crap they'd endured had made him forget. Maybe now that he'd found Buffy, it was okay to let Sammy go. The realisation was a watershed moment and Dean let the emotion of it pour into his demanding exploration of her mouth. 

His tongue duelled wetly with hers as they conducted a sensuous struggle for dominance he intended to win. Dean hadn't realised he'd backed her into the wall, giving her no place to escape as his lips continued its plunder, his body pressing so hard against hers, he could feel her heart pounding against his. When she groaned into his mouth, it was a sound of such complete surrender, he shuddered at how quickly it travelled from his ears to his cock. 

"Oh God," Buffy whimpered when she felt the growing hardness pressing into her belly. The sensation generated a corresponding surge of desire that liquefied her insides, making her want him even more. The vivid imagery of what he planned on doing with that erection made her wet just imagining it. Somewhere in the midst of her scrambled thoughts, she questioned what they were doing. _This was insane_ , she told herself. Monsters could jump out at them at any time. And yet even as the thought crossed her mind, Buffy was pulling at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her palms. 

Dean became vaguely aware of his shirt buttons popping free and glanced down to see them skittering away from his feet when they hit the floor. He raised his eyes to hers and saw the smouldering need in them. Curling his lips into a teasing smirk, Dean did the same to her shirt. He thought she might protest when he parted the soiled fabric of her shirt, leaving only the scrap of a lacy bra between him and her bare flesh however, Buffy did nothing of the kind. 

Instead, Buffy lowered her head to his neck and began plying it with soft, uncertain bites and kisses, introducing him to the sweet ecstasy of pleasure and pain. Dean let his head drop back, enjoying the sensation of her lips against his flesh. Still the way she touched him made Dean wonder how long it had been for her. 

"Christ Counsellor," Dean uttered a grunt that was part impatience, part frustration. Unhooking her bra in the front, the soft lace fell away to reveal perfectly, round, tanned breasts with nipples so taut with arousal, they jutted impatiently for his touch. His mouth near watered at the sight of them, sending him into a lust so black, he was barely aware of that he was injured. Sliding his hand hands beneath her gloriously firm ass, Dean lifted her up, bracing her back against the wall. Buffy reacted instinctively, her legs coiling around his waist while her arms encircled his neck. 

“This is crazy…” she launched a meek protest as she looked down at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair mussed up and her shirt splayed open for all to see. “We shouldn’t be doing this….” 

However, Dean didn’t give her a chance to finish the sentence because his mouth enclosed a pert nipple began suckling insistently. Her reaction was sharp immediate. He felt her back bending like a bow, pushing more of herself past his lips. He swirled his tongue, teasing the tip while she whimpered and squirmed, crying out his name in abandon. 

_God, she was so fucking hot_ , he didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything sweeter. 

“Oh Dean….” She mewled, her mind overloading from sensation. There was nothing else she could do as she felt his tongue suck and tease her. Buffy’s fingers ran through his hair mindlessly, wondering if this felt so good because of the danger. She could feel slick damp between her legs as he nursed on her, the heat he had to be feeling against him. 

Dean didn’t respond to her voice so hungry with need, continuing instead to ravish her breasts until he left red marks against her skin. He was so hard he could barely think and the warmth he could feel between her legs provoked a hunger in him so fierce he could barely control it. Each time she whimpered, each time she said his name like that, it was all he could do to keep from bending her over and taking her there and then.

Lowering her to the ground, Dean pulled away reluctantly from her chest and reclaimed her lips, plying her mouth with the hard, demanding kisses. He pulled away for a moment, caressing her chin as he lowered his gaze to her anxious eyes and saw that as much as she wanted him, he also saw hesitation and fear. Wanting to erase that look from her face more than his next breath, Dean lowered, his lips trailing damp kisses down her belly. 

Raising his eyes to hers, his expression was soft and tender as he spoke to her in a tone one would use to an frightened colt, “You don’t have to be afraid Counsellor,” he promised sincerely, “I’ll never hurt you like he did.” 

Buffy’s breath hitched as she heard those words, her eyes moistening because at that instant, she realised this wasn’t just about lust for him. She watched tantalized while he unbuttoned her pants, rolled the fabric down her thighs, all the while licking her mound through the lacy fabric of her thong. Buffy closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept away by the pleasure engendered by his expert touch, barely thinking as she shimmied out of her pants and kicking off her boots. 

_This is crazy_ , she told herself again as she stood before him, shirt opened, breasts exposed, wearing only a thong while the rest of her clothes were pooled at her feet. _This was how people got killed._ And yet when looked down at him and was greeted by a predatory smile of cocky assurance, she knew she was never going to be able to resist him. 

“I’m going make you feel so good Counsellor…” Dean breathed just before he lifted her leg over his shoulder and pulled aside her thong to lean in for a long, deep lick from crack to clit.

She was crying out his name before he’d even gotten halfway there. The burst of pleasure was so sharp that Buffy almost screamed. It had been so long since she’d been treated to such oral ministrations that her mind overloaded from exquisite sensations. Not that he was about to let her catch her breath because his tongue was soon swirling around her clit, washing the tiny pearl with the broad side of his tongue as his lips massaged her outer folds. 

“Dean…oh God…Dean…” she whimpered completely undone, hating that she sounded so needy because she was sure he was loving every breathy plea but unable to bear him stopping. The stubble on his chin was creating a delicious friction against her flesh and Buffy was begging him not to stop as she pulled him closer. 

Dean paused long enough to produce a satisfied grin before he returned to the work at hand or rather mouth. Spreading her apart with his fingers he began fucking her with his tongue, thrusting up the same taut, slick passageway his cock would soon take. After seeing her fight, seeing the power she exuded when she took on monsters that defied reason, knowing that he could reduce her to this was a fucking high that had no comparison. 

Dean wanted her to make Buffy come, wanted to hear his name as she did it, wanted to satisfy some misogynistic fantasy of dominance but most of all, he wanted to make her feel that sex didn’t always lead to heartache. It surprised him how much Dean wanted that more than _anything_. 

“Yeah baby,” Dean answered her as he pulled away and inserted two fingers into slick, wet passage, pumping furiously while massaging her clit with his thumb. “You like that don’t you? Like me tasting you.” 

And just to drive home his raunchy words, Buffy saw through half lidded eyes, him removing his thumb to tease her clit between his teeth once again. He continued his oral assault until her body was quaking with the coming of an orgasm so splendid, it might shatter her into a thousand pieces.

“Yes Dean,” she begged, “yes, please, don’t stop…” he words were becoming gibberish and all she cared was what that beautiful mouth was doing to her. She hadn’t felt this good in so long, hadn’t remembered how it felt to be so unfettered and attune to another human being. It seemed like he knew just the right thing to make her come.

And she did, wonderfully, sinfully and without any ability to control it. Buffy threw her head back and came with a scream of pleasure so sharp, she rode his mouth as he drank her like he was draining her of her soul. The orgasm was so blinding, so intense that she almost saw stars. _He was so good_ , she thought disjointedly, _he was so fucking good._

Then before she had time to come down, Dean was on his feet, taking her by the hips and spinning her around, flattening her chest against the wall. She felt her cheek scrape against the hard surface and there was a moment of clarity when she heard a zipper being pulled. It was the last sane thought she had before her spine stiffened as he drove himself all the way into her. For the second time that night, she cried out his name as she felt every exquisite inch of his cock driving into her body. 

"Oh…fuck….” Dean groaned into her ear as he held onto her hips and drove his cock into her warm, wet, still clenching cunt. He buried himself to the balls, needing a moment to adjust as his brain temporarily lost all ability to think clearly because of how incredibly tight she was. Somewhere in the part of his mind that still had coherence, Dean hoped he hadn’t hurt her. However, she’d been so wet he’d been able to ride the slick of her orgasm straight to her core, until he could go no further. 

“Oh Counsellor,” he breathed in that slow drawl into her ear as his thrusts started to pick up momentum. “You are so goddamn tight I could cry.” With that, he pushed in hard again, drawing out another whimper of surrender from her as he reached the end. Dean wrapped his arm around her waist as she braced herself against the wall with both hands. Buffy arched her back and stood on tip toes to accommodate him. His free hand latched onto a breast, teasing a nipple as he whispered in her ear, “Tell me what you want baby.” 

Buffy knew what she wanted. She wanted him to _move_. He filled so completely, stretched her so beautifully she could almost cry and she did not want it to end, ever. This whole situation was still beyond her ability to process but him doing this to her was not, how he made her feel was also _not_. “Fuck me,” her voice breaking like the surf against the rocks. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Always give the lady what she wants,” Dean teased wearing a smug smile, her fevered demand a trophy he would savour for some time to come. 

He started moving again, his strokes long and slow at first, making her feel every inch of him. Dean had to maintain his own control as her insides shuddered with post orgasmic flutters against his thick shaft. Each time he reached the end, he pushed up hard, ensuring his cockhead made contact with the delicious barrier that made her squeal his name like a fucking porn star. Hearing her gorgeous voice while he was fucking her was perhaps the biggest rush of all. 

Buffy was rocking her hips to the rhythm he’d set, her head tossed back, her blond hair swaying across her as he continued to piston in and out of her moist depths. The grunts he made in her ear with each stroke told her that he was getting close and was as out of his mind as she was. This wasn’t love making, far from it. It was shameless animal fucking and Buffy was slave to it, slave to him who could make her feel this way. She could feel her insides clenching again, could feel the prelude to orgasm coming for her once more. 

“Oh God Dean…I’m…I’m…” she couldn’t finish it because she couldn’t think any more, her body was too lost in the pleasure he was forcing her to endure. Instead, she turned her head towards him and Dean immediately covered Buffy’s lips in a sloppy open mouthed kiss that had no purpose but to drive this coupling to its glorious end. 

Dean didn’t answer or rather couldn’t when he felt Buffy scream his name one last time before she came hard. Those delicious flutters along his shaft had become thousands of fingertips massaging his cock with exquisite pressure. Uttering a wordless cry, his control was gone and they reached completion together with Dean gripping Buffy’s hips tight as he emptied his seed into her warm depths. He felt no arrogance or triumph at taking her, just reverence at being able to worship at the altar of her flesh. 

When they began to settle in post-orgasmic bliss, Dean leaned against her body and kissed the back of her neck tenderly before saying breathlessly, “I don’t care if we die here or not but that was _so_ fucking worth it.”


	15. Chapter 15

_“…all of them.”_

“Where are they?” Sam Winchester demanded after hearing those words, dropping all pretext at being an FBI agent because Scheckly’s smug explanation didn’t just reek of any impending doom yet to happen but rather of one that had already taken place. His explanation of the Razor Realm was too much like Purgatory for Sam’s comfort and if that’s where Dean and Buffy had been sent, the younger Winchester had no damn idea how to get them back. Worse yet, he'd just gotten his brother back. Sam didn't know he could take another of Dean being gone, trapped some place that he could never reach.

“Who?” Scheckly’s eerie smile seemed to grow broader even though he was feigning innocence at any complicity in their disappearance.

“My brother and his friend,” Sam snapped, his hand reaching for the sawn off under his jacket. “They came to your store this afternoon. They haven’t been heard from since. You’re telling me you don’t know anything about it?”

“Haven’t a clue...” Scheckly replied smugly. “Young man and a pretty girl like that, they could be _anywhere._ ” He emphasized the last word with a sneer.

Sam’s patience broke at that moment. Jumping out of his chair, he was on Scheckly in a minute, stamping a foot against the man’s chest, his shotgun aimed squarely at Scheckly’s face. “Where are they?” He demanded, more than prepared to shoot if he wasn't answered appropriately.

Scheckly’s eyes narrowed with wicked malevolence. “Where do you think? I gave them to the Razor Realm. My master demands fresh meat for the grinder and your brother and his slut were very tasty indeed. I'm sure they've masticated him by now and her, so many moist places to explore and tear...”

Sam jammed his foot harder against Scheckly’s chest at the sickening thought, until he heard bone crack but he wasn’t about to pull his punches if this asshole knew where Dean and Buffy were and more importantly, how to get them out of this so called Razor Realm. 

“How did you send them there? Did you use the cube? Where is it?”

“You know nothing about the cube. It’s a nexus between the soft places of creation. Even brief contact with it allows the Razor Realm to invade your reality.” Scheckly crowed while straining against Sam’s boot but showing little sign of fear perhaps because he knew Sam wouldn’t harm him if he wanted Dean and Buffy returned.

Not that Scheckly was intended to do anything of the kind of course because the boy was under the mistaken impression he was helpless.

He was _not._

“That’s what happened to Benson and Sherman?” Sam demanded again, taking the opportunity to learn as much as he could about this place he'd never heard of before. The Razor Realm. “We touched it and it opened this…this…nexus to the Razor Realm?” He thought about the dust they’d found at each of the sites where the victims had been killed. Benson was waylaid by whatever horror that frightened him the most in that alley while Sherman was murdered by his fear of spiders in his own office. Even Buffy and he had been violated in seemingly impregnable locations. 

The monsters hadn’t come after them; they’d _invited_ the things in.

“You’re smarter than you look boy,” Scheckly sneered, “but that’s not going to help you now.”

“Oh yeah…?” Sam returned and pushed down his foot against the man’s chest even harder but Scheckly didn’t seem to notice it and in a second, neither did Sam.

Scheckly's skull started to expand and stretch like someone inflating a beach ball. Blisters came to life beneath his increasingly elastic skin, stretching to its limit as his bones continued to grow. His eyes turned black before his eye balls began to bulge out of their sockets. His pupils vanished into the sickly dark of compound eyes and his flesh tore to reveal the dark green hide of something monstrous.

He started to smile again, maintaining the same unperturbed façade that infuriated Sam to no end and made him want to blow the son of a bitch’s head off. However, Sam knew to do that was to risk losing Dean and Buffy to whatever craziness Scheckly had sent them into. 

As Scheckly’s mouth widened, Sam saw the corners of his mouth started to tear when his skull outgrew the mask of flesh he was wearing. Rivulets of blood rolled down the ruined skin, revealing triangular white teeth that were inches long and resembled fangs. A slithery pink tongue snaked through the razor sharp points as Scheckly slapped a hand on Sam's ankle and hissed. "Now perhaps you understand you’ve bitten off more than you chew.”

With that, he shoved Sam with such force that the younger Winchester was flung through the air, slamming into the wall so hard that the dry wall he landed against cracked, creating a small crater where Sam’s shoulder had impacted. Sam felt something buckle and was immediately assaulted by exquisite agony when he felt something pop out with a sickly squelch. The agonising pain forced him to release the shotgun and he knew he'd dislocated his shoulder. Maybe Dean was right after all; the trials were ensuring that he was no longer in any shape to keep hunting the way he was.

Unfortunately, as he saw the rest of Scheckly’s human visage shed away from the growing bulk of the creature he was transforming into, Sam had a sneaking suspicion; he may not be around to hear Dean say ‘I told you so’.

*****

When they had gone their separate ways, Faith had continued up the side walk searching for the best way to break into the house while Sam parlayed with Scheckly for information. She suspected that she had very little time to do what he’d asked because the guy had to know someone was onto him already. If he had taken down B and Sammy’s big brother, then Scheckly had to assume someone else would come looking for them and was expecting trouble. If so, he’d be on his guard and Sam’s appearance at his door might be akin baiting the hook with the worm.

Of course, Faith hadn’t told Sammy that when she agreed to his plan. _Let him discover that surprise by himself_ , she sniggered inwardly.

The tall ornamental trees and boxwood shrugs that separated Scheckly’s home from his neighbours also provided enough shadows to allow Faith a concealed approach to the rear of the house. She heard Sam trying to con his way in distantly as she moved soundlessly through the darkness, more than adept at making a stealthy advance after years of sneaking around vampires who could hear better than bats. Once she was passed the frontage, she skirted the far wall surveying each window as she passed it.

Most of his curtains were drawn so other than a glimpse of the crack between them through the dark, there was little she could make out and that added another trace of confirmation that he was their bad guy.  Obviously, he didn't want anyone seeing what he did within the walls of his home. _Or he could like privacy_ , her cautionary voice reminded. The voice which she'd never admitted sounded like Sunnydale's previous mayor, tended to be heard when she felt she might be making impulsive choices.

She was halfway down the path that ran alongside the house when she came across seven foot wooden fence that was no obstacle for her as she clambered over it. Her only concern as she dropped to her feet on the other side was the presence of a dog if Scheckly had one. She liked dogs and wouldn't want to harm one if it threatened to give her away. 

Fortunately, no Doberman or Shih Tzu was there to greet her when she entered Scheckly's back yard. It was bare except for a spinning clothes line and a tin shed in the corner of the small yard. The grass was patchy and dry, indicating the guy wasn't much of a gardener as Faith walked up the wooden steps to the door. When she reached it, she found the door was locked and didn't waste any time applying a little slayer strength to the mechanism and destroying the lock with one sharp twist of the knob.

She slipped into through the kitchen which though clean, seemed dated. The Formica and linoleum had taken the stain of age and it all seemed to bleed into a dreary state of off-white. She scanned it for a second or two and proceeded to search the house. She heard footsteps in the other room and paused until they'd gone into the living room before she continued her reconnaissance.

The first level offered nothing of interest, bathroom, laundry, separate toilet and the study. She snuck into the study, surveying the books on the shelves and noted that most of them were in languages she couldn't read and appeared as antique as the objects in the man's store. They were leather bound and had that musty smell which always reminded Faith of the library where Giles had kept most of his books. If Buffy were here; Faith was sure that the Chosen would find it nostalgic, Faith just found it dusty.

Rifling through the contents of roll top desk, Faith found little of interest, papers, a security cam cassette and a couple of knickknacks that had yet to be catalogued. There was no sign of Sam's mysterious cube but then if it was the object that they believed it to be, Scheckly wouldn't keep it out in the open. He'd probably had it upstairs, she thought glancing above when suddenly she heard shouting. Faith's neck jerked up to listen for a moment until a loud crash jolted her into action.

She was racing out of the study a split second after, covering the span of the hallway in a few short strides towards the source of the commotion which was emanating from the living room. Faith skidded across the threshold of the room’s doorway when she saw Sam Winchester picking himself off the floor. Blood was running down his nose and the unusual angle of his shoulder told her that he’d dislocated it.

What had flung all six foot four of him was standing way much taller with a misshapen head that nearly bumped against the ceiling when it straightened up. It looked reptilian except that it was hunched over with a clearly hominid skeletal structure, with legs bent and arms balancing its bulk against the floor. It raised its head away from Sam and Faith saw herself reflected in the facets of his compound eyes. It tilted its head and reared up, uttering a below of indignation at the invasion of its home.

"You just make life interesting don't you Sammy?" Faith quipped but there was no trace of humour in her voice.

"Don't kill it!" Sam warned as he saw her reaching inside her coat, "It knows where Dean and Buffy are. It sent them somewhere!"

The creature started to laugh as if it found the notion of them sparing it was highly amusing. Considering that it towered above them both, perhaps not an unwarranted conceit, Sam thought.

"I think you over estimate your abilities boy. I will crack your skull and drink you dry before I devour every layer of flesh left!" It spat at them, vicious green fluid splattering about from its distended jaw.

"You’re getting me hot sunshine," Faith retorted and removed the sheath of the knife she had hidden in her coat as the creature closed in on Sam. The blade was a variation of a Malaysian Kris. It had a curvy blade that tapered into a sharp point with a wooden hilt carved with figures of that country’s mythology.

The creature appeared more interested in Sam as it lunged towards the young hunter. Sam leapt out of the way even though movement was excruciating. He let out a groan of pain that had his eyes watering as the creature slammed into the same crater he had created earlier when it had flung him against the wall. Scheckly spun around on his crouched legs, his massive arms lashing out. Sam felt the sharp scrape of sharp talons across his back. The thick fabric of the jacket saved him from having his spine ripped open.

“Hey handsome! How about picking on someone your own size?” Faith jumped on top of Scheckly’s back, locking her arm around his thick neck before plunging the point into saucer sized shoulder blade. It sank through the tough hide aided in part due to the sharpness of the blade and also because Faith was driving it with slayer strength. Scheckly bellowed with outrage and tried to shake Faith off as the ooze that passed for his blood pulsated from the open wound.

“I’ve shit bigger than you,” Scheckly snarled, swinging about violently to dislodge her.

Meanwhile Sam had stumbled into the hall, his arm hanging limply at his side. Face contorted in pain, he sucked in deep breath and braced himself for what came next. Painfully aware of the fight taking place in the next room, he couldn’t be out of play for too long. Stomach clenching, Sam grit his teeth and slammed his dislocated shoulder against the wall and popped it back into place with another burst of white hot agony that lanced through his body. Sam cried out loud, unable to hold it back no matter how much he tried. Almost blinded by the pain, he allowed himself no more than a few seconds to recover before he hurried back into the fight.

Faith was still holding onto the creature and had managed to stab it on the back again. However, Scheckly was still on its feet, trying to tear her off by slamming into walls, until every piece of furniture in the room was near destroyed. Suddenly, Faith saw something sharp began to protrude through his back that wasn’t there before. She had about a split second to realise what it was when the sharp, spinal ridges emerged from his hide, threatening to skewer her.

Faith released her grip but not before one of the spines ripped her t-shirt open, cutting a gash that ran from the top of her navel to her cleavage. It wasn’t very deep but stung nevertheless. She dropped to the floor on her ass, the pain running through her spine as Scheckly turned around and prepared to attack. The blade still in her hand, Faith flipped her body upright, landing on one knee as she swung her arm in a wide slash. The knife caught him across the chest and more black blood splattered across her t-shirt.  In reaction, he lashed out faster than she gave him credit, the blow striking her across the jaw and sending her sprawling

Faith landed in to the broken wreckage of the sofa, reeling from the force of the punch. It took something incredibly strong to disorientate her and as she struggled to regain her equilibrium, heard the beastie hiss with triumph. “I’m going to pull off your limbs like a fly and eat what’s left.”

“Yeah good luck with that,” Sam Winchester declared as he stepped through the door way, armed with a sawn off shotgun and fired.

The blast hit Scheckly in the side and he staggered sideways and before Sam pumped the gun again and fired a second shot. This one caught Scheckly in the leg, bringing him down to one knee. He made another desperate lunge at Sam who pulled the trigger for a third time. This time the blast caught Scheckly full in the face. His grotesque features exploding in an eruption of blood and dark flesh. Sam fired once more, discharging the last shell in the chamber to obliterate what was left of Scheckly’s features. He hadn’t meant to kill the son of a bitch but there didn’t seem to be a choice now.

Slayer or not, Faith wasn’t invincible.

Scheckly staggered backwards once more and then tumbled over. His fall was halted by the wall behind him and upon landing against it, slumped to the floor. There was no reaction from his ruined, featureless face as the bulk of him slid to the floor, unmoving.  His compound greyed over, like the facets of a diamond misting over one at a time. Black blood expanded in a thick, viscous pool where he’d fallen, soaking the carpet and seeping through the cracks of the wooden floor.  
                                                                                                                                           
Sam let out a sigh of relief, lowering the gun in his hand before wiping the blood running down his nose. He succeeded in smearing it across his face when he turned to Faith.  She was still on the floor, prompting him to take a step towards her with his hand extended.

“Are you okay?” He asked full of concern, taking note of the gash running down her chest. “You’re hurt.”

Faith stared at him for a moment, holding his gaze before dispelling the private thought running through her head at the moment to the ether. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She took his hand and stood up a little shakily before commenting, “Not bad for a civilian.”

“You saved my ass,” Sam pointed out, “Thought I ought to do the same.”

Blood rushing through her veins at being denied the kill and yet feeling some wholly uncharacteristic admiration at how he had come in and saved her, Faith reacted the way she always reacted when someone hit her in the right spots. Without giving him a chance to react, she yanked him down by the shirt and captured his lips in a bruising kiss, pouring all the frustration and adrenalin surging through her veins into that one exchange.

There was liquid fire in her kiss and as her tongue invaded his mouth like the peasants storming the castle, it took a moment for Sam to process what was happening. His head swooned by how incredible she tasted and felt, like the demon blood he used to get high on. It filled with a sense of power while at the same time terrified him. He wanted to revel in her, revel in the kiss but he couldn't; not _now_. Not with Dean and Buffy missing and not with his body deconstructing one heavenly trial at a time.

"Faith...Wait...." Sam finally gathered enough resolve to pull away but Christ it was hard. At that moment, he'd like nothing better than to let her have her way with him but they had bigger problems right now. "Stop,” he insisted.

Faith pulled back and Sam caught a glimpse of blush on her cheeks that did not belong to the strong confident, aggressive woman of a second ago. She looked like someone who had been caught doing something she shouldn't have been and he felt sorry for making her feel that way.

"Sorry," she apologised, unable to meet his gaze. "It’s a slayer thing."

"A slayer thing?" Sam's brows arched in surprise and his stomach sank in disappointment, realising that the kiss was just the by-product of her slayer physiology and not because she liked him or anything.

"Yeah," She nodded, "post-fight, we get strong _urges_." She replied, pretending to examine the wound on her chest extra closely so as to not be any more embarrassed than she already felt. "It kind of makes us super horny."

"Oh," Sam said unable to think of what to say to that. _Thank God Dean wasn't here_ , Sam thought. His older brother would have been crowing that he'd hit the fucking lottery. Thinking of Dean made Sam remember their situation and he decided this was a conversation better served for another time. Turning towards Scheckly's dead body, he saw the man's remains and cursed, "I shouldn't have killed him."

As he walked past her, saying nothing more about their exchange and focussing on business, Faith stared at his back convinced with a faint smile that he'd wanted her too. The heat in the few seconds that he'd kissed her back was unmistakable but it seemed, wrapped in that package of courage and intelligence, was also decency. He'd let it go without making some jackassy remark and she liked that; and _him._

"Sometimes, it just plays out the way it’s gonna play."

Sam cast her a glance but couldn’t be consoled, "but now we have no way of knowing how to get Buffy and Dean back. He could have told us about this Razor Realm he'd sent them to."

True, Faith thought silently but neither was she about to pin her hopes on a monster who had been prepared to kill them both. "Look, I haven't searched all of this place yet and if we don't find the cube here, we'll put a call to Giles and figure something out."

Sam nodded but he had the sinking feeling that they were running out of time.

***

They'd gotten dressed again and cleaned up without saying a word.

No monster had jumped out at them while Dean had held Buffy for a few minutes in post orgasmic bliss, breathing in the scent of her hair, relishing the silk of her skin pressed against his bare chest. He knew he was _so_ gone. She fucking _owned_ him now and for once he didn't mind. Maybe it was the sex talking but being with her made him start to understand his dad a little more. Life without mom had driven John Winchester crazy, had made him forget he had sons not two hunters in the making. It was the only way he’d been able to cope being without her.  
                                                                                                                                  
When they started walking again, the tension was thick and palpable.  There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her about what she meant to him. However the talking, that was Sammy's thing, not Dean's. He hadn't done it since Lisa and there was always a part of him that knew that it couldn't last with her. When it had ended, it had broken his heart but Dean had also known it was for the best. He couldn’t protect her or Ben all the time nor could he stay.

"Look, I'm going to say it," she spoke up first breaking the silence. 

It was no surprise to Dean of course. If either of them was going to talk about what had happened between them, it was sure to be her.

"What happened back there was amazing," she said unafraid to admit it. "It’s what exactly what I needed but I don't expect anything from you. I know that once we're out of here, you'll be gone and that's okay. I understand the life. I lived it. It’s hard on the people we care about. It’s even worse when they get hurt. You want to protect them from all the monsters in the world but you can't. You're in my heart but I understand that you'll be moving on so you don't have to worry about me. Being a slayer I can protect myself but I don't want you to feel obligated to me just because we got groiny."

"Groiny?" Dean looked at her, listening to her rambling and wondered if she knew that even half of what she was talking about sometimes. He doubted it and while some of what she had to say made sense a lot of it didn’t and also underestimated him quite a bit. “What are you _twelve_?”

“So _not_ the way to talk to girl you just had sex with,” Buffy pouted, punching him lightly on the arm.

Dean chuckled softly and retorted, “I can’t help it, I’m not up on how to describe sex using rainbow unicorns and little heart shapes.”

"Don't be a jerk," she complained dropping her gaze to her feet, slightly offended at his teasing. "I'm trying to make this easy for you."

"Well thank you for that Counsellor," Dean retorted and stopped in mid step, reminded that he had been a little irate at the assumptions she made about him in her earlier speech, "but how about you shut up and let me talk for a sec?"

Buffy shot him an icy glare. _How could he make her feel the way he had earlier and then follow it up with behaviour that made her want to bash his head in? The guy was infuriating!_ Buffy grumbled to herself as she stopped next to him, her arms folded. Smouldering while she gave him the silence he asked for.

"Firstly," he said staring at her. "Back there was _awesome_. Better than the twins in Reno and the surfer chick in Venice, _awesome_. Secondly, thanks for giving me the obligation-free fuck but I _didn't_ ask for it. I don't know how we're going to work things out when we get out of here but I can tell you that I'm not going to drive out of town and forget you exist. That back there, wouldn't have been as great as it was if I thought you were just a one night stand I'd never see again. This thing we got going, you gotta know how rare it is. You're the slayer so I know you can take care of yourself and you know I'm a hunter so you don't gotta worry about me either. Don't you think that's worth hanging on to?"

Buffy couldn’t find the words to respond so she nodded quietly instead.

"And for the record, you're in _my_ heart too so before this becomes the last act of a bad Jennifer Lopez chick flick, let's concentrate on getting out of here, yeah?"

It was hard to disagree with him when he was right. Had she become that jaded with relationships and men? In the distance, she picked up the sound of something in the background, was that wind? It sounded like something being dragged against the floor. She surveyed the length of wall and saw nothing before regarding him again. 

"Okay," she answered with a nod, belaying her apprehension and chiding herself for not giving him the benefit of the doubt at least.

Dean got that she was scared. For all her courage, he knew she'd been hurt before and surrendering herself to caring for someone again was hard. After Lisa, he felt the same fear. However, Dean felt in his gut that this thing with Buffy had a chance of becoming something good. Dean had never thought he'd ever feel these words; but he had faith in the both of them to handle what came next. 

Stroking her chin with his thumb, Dean was about to lean in and kiss her when the same noise that Buffy had heard previously became audible to him too. “You hear that?” He asked her, staring down the dark abyss of the never ending hallway they were trapped within.

“Yeah,” she nodded, her brow knotting as she gripped the sword in her hand even tighter as her eyes followed his gaze, “I guess we’re getting the next act now.”

The next ‘act’ was moving fast now and as it closed in on them, Dean started to realise that the dragging sound they were hearing, wasn’t of something small but something that was extremely large moving across the floor. Dean clutched Buffy’s hand instinctively because it was coming right at them even though it was still out of sight.  That did not last long as he started to see the shape of it even if its silhouette made no sense to him yet. One thing was unmistakable; its size almost filled the breadth of their hallway and as it approached, he could hear the snort from its nostrils.

“Can you make out what it is?” Dean demanded deciding they weren't staying and started to run, with Buffy casting glances over her shoulder, trying to identify it.

It took only a glimmer of light from whatever was radiating it for Buffy to recognise what she was coming after them and when she knew there was only _one_ thing to do.

“RUN!” She barked and broke into a run, taking Dean with her. He did not question the order, running alongside of her as the thing closed the gap between them.

“What the hell is it?” He shouted at her again.

There was no need to answer because it was close enough for him to see what they were up against. They were against a fucking locomotive with teeth bared and sharp tusks protruding from the ridges of its massive skull.

“THE MAYOR!” Buffy cried out in response. “It’s the mayor!”


	16. Chapter 16

Leaving Scheckly's grisly remains where he'd been killed, Sam and Faith knew they didn't have much time.

The shotgun blasts might have alerted someone concerned enough to call the police and then their access to the house would be lost for days. Sam's instincts told them they didn't have that much time. While Faith took the upstairs, Sam concentrated his efforts on the first floor. She suggested that he look in Scheckly’s study, directing him to the books she had been unable to read, believing he might have better luck.

As he stepped into the room with its musty smell of books and yellowed papers, Sam scanned the room, taking it in and committing all the details to memory. While Dean relied on instinct to navigate most situations, Sam relied on methodical observation. He processed information faster and was able to sift through it with an eye for the fine details. He knew he could string together the obscure to produce something tangible and as Sam swept his gaze across the room, he prayed that skill could be employed to unlock Scheckly's secret location of the cube. 

The thing that stuck out first was the video tape. It sat atop a nest of papers which when Sam picked it up, noted were bills and receipts from the various purchases made by the store. The words 'security' was scrawled along the spine and Sam held onto to it, planning to view it later when he had opportunity because it seemed so out of place in the room. Why would Scheckly bring it home and not leave it at the store? What was on it that he planned to view it in the privacy of his home?

Sam turned away from the roll top desk and went to examine the books that Faith had pointed out. They were all leather bound editions of classics. Moby Dick, Vanity Fair, the Count of Monte Cristo. If this was his private collection, then it appeared that Scheckly had a taste for good literature. Sam’s gaze rested on the books Faith had pointed out and noted they were in Latin. He recognised the titles; _De Nigromancia, Ars Notaria and Le Dragon Rouge_. These were books that had been in Bobby’s collection and he’d become familiar with the volumes over the years.

Believing he had gleaned everything of value from the room, Sam was about to join Faith upstairs when his eyes grazed a particular title on the shelf. _The Call of Cthulhu_ by HP Lovecraft. Sam frowned at the sight of it. He knew the title and recalled that it was a short story, part of the series of called the _Cthulhu Mythos_. It wouldn’t be in a book by itself. Reaching for it, Sam pulled it out by the spine and found that it wasn’t a book at all but rather a box. Flipping open the cover, he saw within the hollow space was the cube. 

Scheckly must have stashed it here when he got back, Sam decided.

Remembering what had resulted the last time he’d touched the thing, he made no effort to remove the object from its place in the box. Instead, he closed the lid and tucked it under his arm, just in time to hear the distant whine of police sirens penetrate the night air. They were not far off and were getting closer by the minute. Stepping out of the room, he called out. “Faith!”

She was already coming down the stairs having heard the sirens herself. Her footsteps hasty as she pounded down the staircase to meet him in the vestibule. “You find anything?” She asked. “Cos we gotta go.”

“I found it,” he nodded, gesturing to the box in his hand. “But we can’t leave the cops to find Scheckly, they’ll freak.”

“I know,” Faith agreed and looked around, an idea forming in her head. “I got it,” she declared and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. 

Sam followed to find her bending over the gas stove when he entered. She turned the series of dials against the white enamel and gas hissed out from the open valves. Reaching inside her jacket pocket, she pulled out a set of matches and lit one, leaving it against the kitchen table. As the single match burned, continuing its journey to the others in the pack, Sam watched her do this and wanted to protest. However the increasingly loud sound of sirens in the background told him they didn’t have a choice. The cops finding Scheckly’s body was not an option and they didn’t have time to remove it and dispose of the remains themselves.

“This used to be our house you know,” Sam said quietly as he saw her creating the makeshift detonator. “My parents lived here, I lived here after I was born and mymom died here.”

“I’m sorry,” Faith replied hurrying to him and taking his arm, ushering him out of the house. “That’s rough but you know as well as I do, this is the only way.”

“I know,” he nodded and let her lead him to the back door where she’d entered the building in the first place. “It seems like this house always draws ugly crap to it no matter who’s living here. I guess this is one way to make that stops forever.” 

Dean had never liked coming to Lawrence because of the memories attached to this house and he suspected, his brother would have less difficulty with this than he currently did. Sam’s attachment to the house was because it was here, he had seen his mother for the first time. Even in a ghostly form, she was so beautiful, so kind and she loved him. Despite the fact that he had cost Mary her life, shestill loved him.

Shaking off the sadness running through him at that, they both ran out the back door and hurried across the empty back yard just as the fumes of gas finally reached the matches.

The explosion that erupted through the house was immense. Both Sam and Faith were almost to the street when the gas ignited. Columns of flame surge out of the windows, shattering glass and incinerating what curtains and blinds hung there. The walls of the house shuddered, some parts of it gave way entirely, exploding outward in hail of burning timber and mortar. Debris scattered across the lawn, igniting bushes and plants surrounding the house. The sky came alive with amber radiance as they ran towards the Impala.

Neighbours had started to emerge from their houses by the time Sam and Faith had climbed back into the car. Wasting no time, he turned the ignition and gunned the engine. Wanting to be neither identified by the neighbours nor seen by the police as they fled the scene, Sam sped the Impala down the street and was out of sight before the first neighbours had a chance to process what had happened.

“So what now?” Faith asked now that they had made good their escape. Faith had decided that Sam was the brains of their little rescue operation since he seemed to know what he was doing. Not that she was a novice either but he struck her as a planner. Faith tended to give way to those with a better strategic mind than her since her plans usually involved striking hard and fast, without thought to the consequences.

“We go back to the antique store,” Sam replied. “I’m guessing if there’s anything left for us to figure out how to use this box, it will be there. Besides, the cops will shifting through the wreckage for a while before they get around to the store. We’ve got a couple of hours.”

“Okay,” Faith nodded. She gazed out the window at the neighbourhood they were passing, taking in the view of dark suburbia as they drove by, admiring the manicured lawns and the houses that all looked indistinguishable from one another. “I’m sorry about the house.” She confessed, throwing him a sidelong glance.

Sam did the same, noting the genuine emotion in her eyes. “Hasn’t really been ours for a long time. My dad moved us out of Lawrence when I was barely a year old,” he explained as they turned another corner, further and further away from the burning house. Behind them, they heard a fire truck scream through an intersection. Sam waited until the low whine died before he continued, “Never really had a home except maybe this car.”

“Home is over rated,” Faith replied automatically, glancing over her shoulder to see more emergency vehicles heading towards Scheckly’s home. “I had a house but it wasn’t much of a home, just a place I couldn’t wait to get away from. It’s the people that matter most, not geography.”

“Yeah I got that eventually,” he tossed her shy smile, “though it took a while to sink in. I always wanted normal, you know? The job, house, family, that sort of thing.” Whether or not she could see in his eyes just how badly he’d wanted it, Sam couldn’t say so he continued. “The way things played out, it’s never going to happen. The harder I try to make it happen, the worse things get.”

Faith didn’t speak for a moment, feeling sad for him that he’d given up any hope of having that life. The body swap she’d done with B had been an eye opener. She’d always thought she wanted what Buffy had until she realised how damn hard that was too. B didn’t have it any easier than her, Faith realised and once she understood that, she was able to come to terms with her own sins and make an attempt at redemption. Of course key to that had been Angel. Sam Winchester was so very much like him, it hurt. He wanted the same things as she did and like Angel, he’d resigned himself to never having it. 

“Let me guess,” she said meeting his gaze briefly, “It led you down a road that had some pretty bad choices?”

Sam shot her another look, wondering if Buffy had told her about Lucifer and then realising that she’d come to that conclusion on her own because there was more empathy in her eyes at that moment than since he’d met her. Maybe she knew intimately, what he meant. “Yeah, some pretty bad ones.” Trusting Ruby, drinking demon blood, unleashing Lucifer and of course, abandoning his brother to Purgatory.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “done that too. Look man, I don’t what your sitch is but if you don’t mind some advice, let it go. Do the thing you’re good at, try and do it right and I find that the normal you want will come along anyway. It could even be better than the Norman Rockwell you got going on in your head. I wanted what B had, the friends and the family and I screwed so bad I almost didn’t crawl out of it. A friend helped me get back on my feet, help me make right some of my mess and things got better. You gotta accept what you are, whatever that might be and run with it. It’s the trying to be something you’re not that just makes you screw up.”

A lot of what she’d said, Sam had already made peace with but hearing her say it without the sometimes self-righteous tone Dean sometimes used, not to mention the revelation that she’d been in the same place, touched him on a deeper level. “Thanks,” he said genuinely affected. “I think you’re right. I think it’s the need that keeps me making mistakes. I’ve just got to let it go, focus on what I’ve got.”

“Attaboy,” Faith winked at him. “Let’s get B and your bro back and then we can remiss about our screw ups together over a tequila and angry sex.”

Sam did a double take and found himself turning a shade red. The girl was coming on strong but then again, Sam tended to like that, though very often he was never sure what to do with it.

“Uh right,” Sam answered, wishing that he had Dean’s way with words right now.

*****

“Move your ass woman before this son of a bitch bites it off!”

“Are you telling me I’m slowing you down!?” Buffy shouted indignantly as she kept in stride with him as they raced down the long corridor, trying to outrun the several tonnes of beast behind them. 

“No!” Dean shouted back as he made sure she was still on his flank. “I’m saying you run like a girl!”

Even though she was panting, Buffy‘s jaw dropped open in outrage anyway.

“If we get out of this, I am _never_ sleeping with you again!” Buffy swore at him. 

"Ha!" He tossed her a smirk knowing better. 

Buffy ran after him, wondering if he knew he didn’t just have one dangerous creature running him after him. 

As it was, Buffy was frantically trying to think of some way to escape this situation. There was no place to hide, nothing to do but keep running. She glanced over her shoulder and wished she had not because the demon was still bearing down on them and they had no choice to keep running or die. They’d been maintaining this pace for a good twenty minutes now and the demon, the same kind that Mayor Richard Wilkins III had transmogrified into, had yet to relent or slow its pace.

In Sunnydale, they’d identified the thing as an Olvikan demon and it had taken nothing short of several tonnes of explosives to kill it. Back then, Buffy had only to run through the high school to escape it, now they were trapped in this weird place and even with her Slayer endurance, Buffy didn’t know how long either of them could maintain this pace without one of them faltering. 

Dean had fought a lot of creatures before. In Purgatory, he had met all kinds of different monsters, condemned to languish in the same prison since the beginning of the time. Leviathans, shifters, vampires, demons but nothing even came close to this thing for sheer size. Ironically, because of his time in Purgatory, Dean had managed to keep up with Buffy and in some instances even out pace her. After a year of constant running to escape one monster or another, Dean had managed to build up his stamina. 

Still, like Buffy, he knew they couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. He’d been egging her on with uncharacteristic insults, hoping her ire would maintain her adrenalin, to keep her from falling into exhaustion. She probably had more stamina than he but Dean was unprepared to let that fucking demon beat her. He’d die before he let that happen. If nothing else, he wanted to give her the chance to escape this place. He rather that then having to watch that ugly son of a bitch kill her in front of him. 

Suddenly, Dean spotted something ahead that neither of them had seen until now. 

The corridor was turning around a corner. They’d been walking for hours and had believed that the road ahead was straight, that this place which seemed to be some nightmare realm didn’t adhere to the conventions of the real world. Something as simple as turn in the endless corridor was enough to get Dean thinking. The window of opportunity to act was devastatingly narrow and whether or not Buffy had any ideas of how to use what ahead of them, Dean knew they didn’t have time to hash it out. 

The idea that kept to him was part desperation and part crazy, Dean didn’t want to debate which was which at the moment, knowing it was their only shot if they wanted to survive the next hour.

“Keep running!” He ordered her as they approached the corner, “Go wide!”

“What?” Buffy demanded when Dean started to veer towards the wall, appearing as if he might run into the corner. 

“JUST DO IT!” He barked.

Buffy cursed out loud and did as ordered, turning into the corner in a wide arc that ensured she was in the demons’ line of sight as it maintained its relentless chase. It slowed down a little to navigate the corner as its large bulk kept it from making a sharp turn quickly. The lag gave Buffy time to widen the gap between them. As she continued to run, she tried catching a glimpse of the wall so she could see where Dean had gone. What was he planning?

Since being trapped in this place with him, Buffy had learned to respect his skills not merely as a warrior but as an able strategist. He had the sharpest instincts of anyone she'd ever met and she wondered how much more formidable he would have been, if he had come equipped with slayer strength. Not that he needed it because if there was one thing Buffy had come to realise; Dean Winchester could hold his own in any fight. 

Dean saw that Buffy had followed his instructions to ensure that the monster was so focussed on her that it had slithered right past him when they had turned the corner. With Buffy in its sights, the demon had not noticed Dean's absence which served him just fine. Thanks to the dim light in this spooky place, he remained concealed in the shadows until it was time for him to make his move. Once the serpent had rounded the corner and enough of it had slid past him, Dean emerged from the darkness. Running along its flank, Dean knew he had only a few seconds before the thing noticed him.

Buffy had come to the conclusion that while the demon might resemble the one she had fought in Sunnydale, it had none of the intelligence of Mayor Richard Wilkins. It was a monster with no trace of the human it had been its source prior to final transmogrification. The mindless beast was only interested in its prey which meant it had none of the Mayor’s emotional baggage. That meant it had none of the weakness she’d been able to exploit to defeat it. Despite seeing anything to suggest otherwise, Buffy worried about Dean. If he had a plan, he should have enacted it by now.  
Please don't let it have hurt him, Buffy prayed silently. She could very well be in love with that stubborn, chauvinistic ass and losing him now so soon after finding him was more than Buffy could stand. Please don't let it hurt him the way it had murdered so many others on Graduation Day. 

Dean was still running alongside of the demon that had yet to notice him. Putting on the speed into his strides, he made a running start and then launched himself at the demon’s flank. With the short dagger he had retrieved from his ankle holster, Dean drove the blade into the demon’s scaly hide all the way to the hilt. Embedded deep within the dark green scales, the dagger’s hilt provided Dean with a secure hold to haul himself the rest of the way until he was perched on top of the demon's spine.

The initial attack had slowed the demon down long enough to utter an indignant roar of pain before attempting to swat Dean off with its tail while still continuing after Buffy. Dean dropped down to avoid being swept off. When the tail retracted, he got to his feet again and swung the longer blade which, until now, had been secured to his back with his belt. He slashed at the tail, nicking the flesh enough to cause blood to splatter across its scales.

The demon let out another outraged roar except this time, it stopped chasing Buffy to deal with its unwanted passenger. To dislodge him off its back, it tried to roll over but when Dean drove the long blade into its spine and held on for dear life, the demon rolled back unto its belly unable to tolerate the pain. Dean clambered to this feet just in time to see it rearing its serpentine neck upright, its massive head turning in his direction with jaws widening and ready to lunge. 

When Buffy realised that the demon had stopped chasing her, she stopped running and turned around to see why. Once again, her jaw drop open at the sight of the small figure on the creature's back. Jogging a little closer so that she could be sure of what she was seeing, Buffy felt the onset of a panic attack to see Dean sitting astride the thing riding a bronco at a rodeo.   
The man was certifiable, she thought to herself as she took the chance to sneak up on the demon that was distracted by the rider on its back. It was snapping at Dean who swinging the blade like a sword, slashing at the creature’s face, preventing it from taking him whole.

Once she had closed the distance, Buffy used her own blade and thrust the point into the demon’s body, causing another screech of pain as it turned its neck to see where the second attack had come from. Buffy leapt out of the way, as its snapped at her, barely avoiding its massive jaws as she rolled across the floor to upright herself in time to slice through one of the bony protrusions on its skull. Splinters of bone and blood flew in all directions as she shattered one tusk. The demon reared its head up in agony, letting out another furious wail before lowering it’s to attack again. 

Dean couldn’t help but grin as he saw Buffy slugging it out with the 60 foot monster.She looked freaking awesome, he thought as he watched her hack away at it like some cute blond Xena. Determined to help his girl, Dean pulled the long blade out of the demon’s bloody flesh and stabbed it again. It roared in pain once more but had no time to come after him because Buffy was on the offensive again, stabbing it in chest...belly... whatever she could reach. It didn't matter. What did matter was the fact the demon turned back to her, giving Dean the chance to pull out the gun he hadn’t used until now.

Taking aim at its skull, Dean started shooting. The first one struck the demon beneath the eye and black blood oozed immediately from of the wound. It howled in pain and struggled to react, twisting its neck left to right, trying to decide which attack to defend itself against. The sound of exploding shells were as much distraction as the bullets themselves. It rolled from side to side making another attempt to throw Dean off but he was able to avoid being tossed off. Regaining his balance, he resumed firing. Truth be told, he'd prefer something deadlier than the 9mm shells he was packing but a magazine carried 17 rounds and he was making every one count.

Something appeared at the rear of his peripheral vision and Dean ducked in time to avoid being flung off the snake’s back by its tail. It lashed at Dean with a powerful, deadly swipes but the attempts were becoming uncoordinated, reflex in reaction to the pain it was enduring. Dean was able to keep his balance and continued firing into the demon’s open mouth when it came at him again, emptying the entire clip. It pulled back sharply, its tusked head jerking wildly as the bullets tore through its flesh. As its jaws widened to roar, Dean saw the small bullet holes that had shredded the upper palette of the creature’s mouth. It began swaying its head from side to side, obviously in pain and giving Dean the time to retrieve his second and last magazine.

The demon continued to thrash. Trying desperately to dislodge him, the flaying tail slammed against the wall, impacting against the dark surface so hard that Dean swore he heard rock crack. Slapping the magazine into place, Dean resumed firing. It was becoming increasingly harder to shoot straight with the demon struggling more violently in its desperation to throw him off. 

The tail came at him again and this time he barely sidestepped it as the head swung in his direction once more, attempting to take a bite out of him again. Dean lost his footing and went down, the gun clattering out of his hand as he slid off to the side. At the last minute, he caught hold of the dagger hilt he’d plunged in its side to climb on top of the creature in the first place. Hanging off the side, Dean struggled to climb back onto its back as Buffy continued to fight. 

Until Dean had open fire, Buffy had been doing her best to keep the thing distracted, using the blade to take swings at the demon's skull when she wasn't stabbing at its elongated torso. The instant the sound of gunshots were heard, the demon forgot all about Buffy deeming her the lesser of two evils and went to deal with the enemy that was shooting at it. The thunderous roar of exploding shells not to mention the damage that Dean was doing told Buffy that he was driving the demon to an act of violent desperation. A creature most dangerous when it was on the defensive. 

She saw the demon smashing its body against the wall trying to knock Dean off its back, while its tail swung at the hunter like a giant whip. The force of its bulk slamming against the seemingly impenetrable wall had actually caused damage with large chunks of rock breaking free and crumbling to the floor. The serpentine body impacted against the wall once more, bringing down a section of it in a dusty heap. When Buffy saw Dean go over, she ran after demon, trying to see where he had fallen. 

“Dean!” She cried out and felt her heard freeze when he didn't answer. The demon's elongated neck was arched over the bloody mess of its back, its nostrils sniffing at something she was sure was Dean. Running forward, she jumped into the air, holding the blade above her head as she aimed its sharp point at the tallest part of its neck. The blade sank into its flesh just beneath the skull and was driven in deep by her weight. The blade slide in to the half-way point when that same weight began to pull Buffy towards the ground. 

Gripping the blade tight in her hand, Buffy felt blood spray over her amidst the demon's shrill and agonized scream as she tore open its neck like she was pulling down a zipper. By the time, her feet had touched the ground, the creature had gone limp and with one final spasm, smashed against the broken section of the wall, its body draped over the jagged fragments as it died. Letting go of the blade finally, she dropped onto her feet and then on her ass, covered from head to toe in rank blood. 

A few seconds later, she heard Dean’s voice. 

“Counsellor!” He emerged from behind the dead carcass, hurrying towards her. Skidding to the ground, he was unhurt and more worried about her as he knelt down beside Buffy. “Are you okay? That was freaking awesome sweetheart!” Dean exclaimed, having witnessed how she killed the thing and was half crazed with relief, euphoria and just a little arousal. 

"Am I okay?" She burst out, gesturing to herself. "Look at me!" She swatted his hand away when he reached for her. Slipping on the slick floor, he fell backwards on his butt, staring at her with bewilderment. 

"THAT WAS YOUR PLAN?" She glared at him. "To jump on that thing like some rodeo clown! Are you freaking kidding me! You could have gotten killed, eaten. I’ve seen that thing swallow a whole principal…in ONE GULP!” She knew she was ranting but Buffy didn’t care. It infuriated her how frightened she had been for him and he was so damn casual about it all. 

Recognising her tirade for what it was, Dean sat up and leaned forward, wiping the blood from her cheek, trying not smile. “Rodeo clown?” He quipped. "Darlin' that was pure Clint Eastwood. Besides it worked didn't it?" He gave her a little wink. 

“Oh my God!” Buffy threw her hands up in exasperation. “You’re insane. You are absolutely certifiable. I can’t believe this,” she shook her head in disbelief and shouted to the gods as if they gave a rat’s ass about anything she had to say, "I am in love with a certifiable lunatic!” 

Dean stopped short and stared at her, a slow smile stealing across his face as he slid an arm around her shoulder. "You love me?"

"Oh shut up," she grumbled and shoved him away again.


	17. Chapter 17

Breaking into the Antiquities Store the second time was far easier than the first as it was territory already marked. In truth, Sam had no idea how long they really had before the cops came to the store so whatever they had to do here, they had to do quickly. They hadn't found anything in the initial search but with the cube in their possession, they might have better luck on a second try. At least, they didn't have to worry about Scheckly interrupting them anymore.

"You think that there's something on the tape huh?" Faith asked, impressed that he'd grabbed the thing because she honestly hadn't thought about it. She'd seen it earlier and wondered who used tapes anymore? Then again, she was accustomed to being the brawn in most operations and was content to leave strategy to Giles and the Watchers. Faith was capable of thinking fast when she had to but she preferred to leave the long con to those who were better at it than she. 

"He brought it home for a reason," Sam pointed out as he swept his gaze across the inside of the back office searching for where Scheckly would play the thing, "He must want to hide it because I didn't see a video player in there, did you?" 

Faith had to say no. 

"Besides," Sam said with with a little smile, "know anyone else with a video player?" 

"True," Faith agreed and started studying some of the frames Scheckly had hung on his walls. She saw a business license, a local merchant award and other were pictures of Scheckly's life while he played human. There were pictures with friends, with the people he'd worked and the opening of the Antiquities store. There was even a picture of the house that she and Sam had just laid waste to. _He should have just told us how get B and big bro back and he could have keep living_ , Faith thought when her eyes caught sight of something that had her calling for Sam.

"Sammy!"

There was something urgent in her tone that made him stop loading the tape into the video player he'd found and cross the floor immediately to her side. She was staring intently at a news clipping that Scheckly had framed on the wall. It was an old article about a freak storm that had originated somewhere in California about twelve years ago. Aside from being uncharacteristically violent, it had produced all manner of unexplained seismic and atmospheric anomalies for the season and climate. Sam supposed it resembled some of the phenomena that had taken place when Lucifer walked the Earth and the Apocalypse was still happening but this had happened years before that.

"What is it?" He asked puzzled, wondering what it was she was seeing that he didn't.

"This is dated 22nd May 2001," Faith declared, staring at him and then realising the date would not have any significance to anyone unless they were a slayer.

"I'm not following you," Sam looked at her puzzled.

"This is the day when B died." Faith declared. "She was fighting this Big Bad called Glory, some hell bitch from another dimension. Glory's deal was that she was trying to get back to her hell dimension and to do that she had to bring down the walls to _all_ the dimensions."

"Okay...." Sam said slowly, stilll needing more information to comprehend the urgency of what she was trying to tell him. Still talk of dimensional walls opened up some rather interesting possibilities. Max Planck in 1900 had theorized that beyond quantum mechanics that were forces at work in the universe that human kind had yet to discover and Hugh Everett's Many Worlds theory was gaining traction. It didn't surprise Sam that the supernatural world would have more defining proof.

"There was a moment when Glory actually did it," Faith explained, growing impatient because explanations were out of her comfort zone. "The walls came down and stuff started coming through. Buffy was able to close it because the guys that made the Key that opened it, used her DNA. What if they got it mostly right but not quite?"

Sam had a dozen more questions but for the moment he was managing to follow. If the ritual to close it hadn't been exactly right, there was a possibility the closure hadn't been as air tight as they thought and there were cracks, just large enough to let two or more universes to merge since different versions couldn’t exist in the same space without causing entrophy. Suddenly in a flash of insight that didn't just open a door in his mind but flooded it, Sam understood.

"I think I know what's happened," Sam stared at her, taking a step back. "That's why we haven't heard about Slayers and why you don't know what Hunters are or know about the Apocalypse. It’s why none of the stuff you've been through appeared on our radar and vice versa. You said this Glory tried to bring down the walls and maybe Buffy's blood didn't quite close it as tight as you thought. So what if maybe one or two of the dimensions merged? Got folded into one new universe where no one knew there was a change. Scheckly might have come through from this Razor Realm of his and got stuck here or maybe he was from your world or ours, whatever."

Faith leaned against a shelf and nodded, "that would explain why the Watchers had no intel on what was happening in Stull Cemetery three years ago. It came at them from nowhere and by the time they figured it out it was too late. I mean your demons are freaky powerful and from _hell_. The _actual_ hell while ours come from hell dimensions that don't always have the fire and the brimstone. I know one who does a lounge act in Vegas and might be gay."

For some reason, Sam actually wanted to see that.

The enormity of their discovery was such that Sam still had trouble believing it and yet he knew in his gut that it was the reason why things were the way they were. There was no other reasonable explanation for why there would need to be hunters in the world if there were slayers protecting humans from demons and vampires. Why the Men of Letters and the Watcher Council would utterly ignorant of each other.

"We'll figure the rest of this out later," Sam finally spoke. "First things first, let's get Buffy and Dean back here." He went back to the video played that sat in the corner of the room next to the desk.

Pressing play, the monochromatic image appeared and thankfully had sound. Faith drifted over, standing next to him as they watched the tape beginning to play. Sam searched the cabinet where it was kept and found the remote control, so he could hit the fast forward button when needed. The screen showed typical footage from a store security camera. Capturing a segment of time around the space Sam immediately recognised as the juncture where the cube had been, it showed all the foot traffic through the day. The image was too fuzzy for him to see the object but he was sure the place was right.

"That's where it was," Sam explained and pressed the fast forward button on the remote, immediately causing the images to speed up. He kept his finger on the button for a good ten minutes as they watched the patrons moving in and out of the frame. Few paused long enough to observe the cube on its shelf, most were walking to other parts of the store.

"There!" Faith exclaimed when Buffy and Dean finally came into view.

Faith leaned forward, taking her first look at Dean Winchester before tossing a look at Sam. "That's your big brother?" She raised a brow. "You don't look alike."

"You're not the first to say that," he agreed, having had enough people thinking that he and Dean were a gay couple. _What was up with that?_ Sam put up the volume to heard them talking. The audio wasn't terrific but it was clear enough to hear the duo talking.

_"Let’s hope this works better than condoms…you know like 99 percent effective?”_

_“God Winchester! Gross.”_

_“How can you gank vamps and monsters the way you do and still sound you should be collecting unicorn stickers and princess dolls?”_

_"You are such a boy."_

_"I'm all man baby......Now get your phone out and send a picture of this to Sam. That will give him something more to go on. Then I say we get this thing out of here and go lock it down at your place. Just in case the gloves don’t work, the last thing I want is for my worst fear to show up when I’m not near Sam.”_

Faith was laughing watching the banter between the two. It appeared that Dean Winchester was more than capable of ruffling Queen B's feathers which was what the blond slayer needed sometimes. Buffy's relationship with Angel had been so tragic and forbidden there wasn't much fun in it. It was probably why Buffy gravitated towards Spike later, at least Spike gave as good as he got.

"I'm telling you I'm keeping this tape when we're done. Gotta to put this on Facebook for Willow and Xander," Faith smirked.

"It’s not funny," Sam threw her a look of disapproval although it was rare to see Dean trying so hard to impress any girl which told him the depth of his brother's feelings for Buffy. However he did not miss what Dean had said about his brother's fears involving him and that too was no mystery to Sam because he knew his brother, knew what frightened him.

They got to the part in the tape where Scheckly had confronted them and the door to the Razor Realm had opened. Scheckly had recited his words, sweeping Buffy and Dean out of this world and into another. When they vanished in a burst of light, Sam saw that the portal remained opened for a second after they disappeared before Scheckly recited a final phrase and then the portal closed.

"Damn," Faith whispered, no longer finding any humour in the situation.

"Yeah," Sam agreed thinking silently about what was to be done.

"We need to open the portal and find them," Faith declared.

"It’s not that simple," Sam replied, although it really was but he'd foresaw other problems. "We don't know what this Razor Realm is like and it’s been hours since they've been gone. This is another dimension, we need to get in there and find them. I think that last phrase is how he closes it but that would mean we'll need to go through with the cube, find Buffy and Dean and then use it to come back again."

"What we need is a locator spell once we go through," Faith declared, "and I know just how to get one."

******   
Convinced it was safe to do so, Dean approached the dead snake demon lying across the section of the massive wall that it had smashed into during its final battle. The deep green colour of its scales had started to turn grey and mottled while its blood created a slick, black pool that spread out from the multiple wounds in its body. Dean winched at the stench of rancid blood that was near stomach turning and he shot Buffy a look of sympathy who was covered in the stuff as she walked next to him, using the last of her wet wipes to get clean.

"How you doing?" He asked her gently. Slayer or not, she was still very much a girl and even though she could kick his ass from here to kingdom come, Dean still protective towards her because she was somewhere he cared about. 

"Fine." Buffy replied as she fished through the contents of her handbag to produce a can of deodorant which she sprayed on herself to mask the awful stink of demon blood still clinging to her.

"Are you actually fine or is that chick speak for 'I'm pissed at you but won't tell you why'?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Buffy gave him a look and replied haughtily, "I'm _not_ mad at you. I'm worried about this place. What if this is the whole Razor Realm?" Buffy swept her gaze across the expanse of endless corridors and her expression softened with worry.

Dean had considered the possibility, actually more than considered it. He was starting to share her concerns about their situation although he was trying to sound more optimistic about it. In Purgatory, even if it was ass, it was still survivable. The savage landscape had been capable of sustaining life. There was running water, wood to burn, fish in the rivers and plant life. It was a a rough, brutal existence but it was _something_. There was nothing like that here. True, they hadn't gotten hungry or felt thirsty which they ought to have been by now but that didn't mean anything.

Were their bodily requirements placed on hold while they fought every monster in the place? How long could they keep it up? Worse yet, it was likely that he'd go first. She was the Slayer, she was built for this and she'd survived even if he didn't. Dean wasn't afraid of dying but the idea of Buffy wandering this place alone if he was taken out was more than he could stand.

"Come on," he took of her hand as he moved past the dead demon and neared the wall the creature had ruined. Large chunks of obsidian coloured marble had crumbled into pile tall enough to reach the top of the wall. Dean started climbing up the mound of broken rock, letting go of Buffy because he needed both hands to reach the top. Carefully testing his weight the higher he got, he paused whenever something felt it was going to give or some of the debris shifted and tumbled to the ground like the flow of an avalanche.

When Buffy realised what he intended, she held back for the moment. When he was almost to the top, she followed him up, ensuring that their weight was distributed evenly enough to prevent the pile from collpasing entirely. As she scaled up the side of it to reach the top of wall, she felt the debris pile shuddered slightly but remained intact as she climbed the rest of the way.

When Buffy stepped onto the wall, she stopped short at the sight of Dean standing on the wall, his back to her. He was simply standing there, saying nothing, his spine ram rod straight. 

The height of the wall gave Dean a sweeping view of everything for miles, until the landscape disappeared into the dark horizon and there was nothing left to see. It was a view he wished he had not seen because when he heard Buffy climbing up behind him, he had no idea what to say to her.When he turned around, he saw no need to make excuses or lie, her face told him she already knew that something was wrong. 

"What is it?" She asked, her voice soft as if she didn't want to know but Dean knew better.

Dean wanted to lie to her, he wanted to tell her that everything was okay but he couldn't. Lies were treacherous things and some truths, such as the one that confronted them now, was too big to hide. Dean didn't have the energy to try and truth be told, the ability to be honest with her was one of the things he treasured about being with her. With Buffy there was no need to bullshit. She wanted the facts laid bare and most of the time she could take it. He admired that. 

With a sigh, he stepped aside, so that she could see, his eyes full of regret because he felt responsible for this, like he should have gotten them out of this already and because he had no answers for her.

"Oh my god...." Buffy gasped.

Walls. As far as the eye could see. They twisted and turned into a maze that seemed to encompass this stygian world. It stretched across the landscape in every direction, wall to wall, with no sign of end. It was endless. The totality of it took her breath away, made her heart pound in her chest, threaten to fissure her slowly degrading composure. She fixed her eyes on it, trying to find an escape in its far reaches but saw nothing but more of the same, more of that soul crushing continuity. This prison they were in was endless, like a Gordian knot that just pulled them tighter and tighter, no matter how much they tried to escape.

"We'll be okay," she felt his hands on her shoulders, trying to assuage her fears with his tender voice even though she could hear him trying to shake off his own uncertainty. "I know my brother, Sam will get us out of here. He won't stop looking for us." Inwardly, he wasn't so sure about that but he couldn't show her that. A snide voice in his head reminded Dean that Sam had abandoned him to Purgatory for a year.

 _No,_ Dean thought silently to himself, _Sammy wouldn't do it to me twice._ If he couldn't have faith in Sam for that much, then their relationship was damaged beyond repair.

"I know where we are," she said quietly as she turned around to face him, "seeing it from up here, I recognise it. We're in the cube. The walls run the same way the puzzle inside the cube. We're trapped inside it."

Dean looked past her shoulder to the labyrinth of walls surrounding them and tried to see the patterns she had to come to the clusion. It took several seconds buts eventually, he saw that she was right. It was the only explanation for the freakiness of the place. It explained why every monster imaginable was trapped in here with them.

"I think I get it now," Dean said to her, "The son of a bitch who sent us here, he said that the Douche of the Razor Realm collects souls or something. What if, every time someone touches this thing, whatever monster or fear that terrifies them gets stashed in here? Maybe what Scheckly did was to stash us the way the cube stashes its monsters?"

"Right," Buffy nodded, agreeing with that. "So if Sam can figure out how to unlock it, we can get out of here."

"I think so," Dean replied, ready to latch onto that small piece of hope to get them through the next few hours. He could see her anxiety and was reminded once again that she was used to opponents she could see and fight, that relying on someone else to save her was new. Dean smiled at the irony of it because these could have been thoughts in his own head. He knew that if he were here with Sammy, he’d probably react the same as her. However, it wasn’t his brother here; it was Buffy and even if it was some old fashioned chivalry at work, Dean was driven by the need to protect her at all costs.

“We’re gonna get out of this,” he promised her, brushing his thumb gently over her lip. “Sam will come through for us. I know it.”

Buffy didn’t know if Sam was capable of getting them out of this mess but just looking into Dean’s eyes told her that even if she wasn’t sure about Sam, she could be assured of Dean’s unshakeable faith in his brother. He believed Sam would get them out of this insane place and Buffy forced herself to believe it too.

After all, what other alternative was there?

*****

After deciding what was to be done to retrieve Buffy and Dean, Faith and Sam left the Antiquities Store and returned to Buffy’s house where Faith put in a call to Willow Rosenberg. Willow and Buffy had been friends since their Sunnydale days and over the course of their friendship, Willow had developed into an extremely powerful Wiccan who often aided the slayer in her fight against evil. It was further affirmation for Sam that the two worlds occupied by slayers and hunters had somehow merged. In all his experience, Sam had never encountered a witch who used her powers for good as Willow had done.

“Thanks Will,” Sam heard Faith say into her cell when he brought more weapons from the Impala into Buffy’s house. Faith had called Willow in Maine, asking the witch how to conjure up the spell that would help them find Buffy and Dean once they’d passed through the portal. Knowing Buffy and Dean as they did, Faith and Sam believed the two would have started searching for an escape route as soon as they’d become trapped in the Razor Realm, wherever that might lead them.

“Yeah I’ve got it in my phone,” Faith continued to speak. “The guy I’m with is into the rituals and spell thing so he should be able to figure it out…that’s right, he’s one of these hunters Buffy told the G-Man about.” She paused a second and threw Sam, who was putting down shotguns and ammunition on the coffee table, a furtive look followed by a slow smile. “Yeah, he is pretty cute… just like his big brother.” Faith laughed as she heard Willow’s response. “ _Definitely_ a bad boy hottie and Buffy’s type.”

Sam almost blushed when he saw Faith winking at him with that coquettish smile before he turned away, concentrating on loading the shotguns, trying not to listen to the conversation she was having with Willow. With all the things they’d been through together in the last few hours, it was easy to forget that Faith wasn’t just another hunter. She was a slayer who was born to this life and revelled in the power at her disposal to rid the world of monsters, which she did with remarkable efficiency and ruthlessness and yet could flirt like any girl. Sam was unable to deny that he was very attracted to her as she was very much his ‘type’. 

However, he didn’t know how to take her forward passes, especially when she revealed that it was normal for her to experience heightened levels of arousal after killing monsters. Sam of course, _was_ interested. Faith was seductive and assertive, two qualities he found hard to resist in the opposite sex. However, beyond the immediate urgency of retrieving Buffy and Dean, Sam was painfully aware of the effect the trials were having on him and was hesitant to start something with Faith when it was possible that he might not recover after they were done.

“Yeah I don’t think they’re wine and cheese type Willow,” Faith remarked meeting Sam’s gaze and gesturing with her hands that she was almost done. “Gotta run Willow, I’ll get B to give you a call if this all goes well.” With that, Faith ended the call, slipping the phone back into her coat.

“Wine and cheese?” Sam asked with a curious expression.

“Yeah,” Faith shrugged. “Willow wanted to know if we can get together after all of this is done for wine and cheese. The girl’s in serious couples dating mode. She needs to stop hanging around all those Wiccans.” 

Sam gave her a look and decided it was best not to comment, focussing instead on the reason for the call. "Uh what did she say about the spell?” Sam asked, trying to shake the thought of Dean Winchester on a double date with a gay witch and her partner because it was making his brain discombobulate.

“Well she texted it to me,” Faith answered, patting the phone in her pocket and approaching the weapons to examine them closer. These Winchesters loved their guns, Faith decided as she admired the shotguns on the coffee table. Then again, a shotgun had blown Scheckly to pieces before he could rip her to shreds so she wasn’t about to question their effectiveness. Besides, she could understand why the hunters would need guns since they were all ordinary humans with no powers of any kind. If the guns gave them the edge to stay alive, then Faith had no complaints. 

“She says the minute we go through, I should perform the spell on the other side so that we can use the radiant energies from the dissipating portal to fuel it and get us to B and your bro.”

It did make some kind of sense to Sam though he didn’t understand all aspects of it. However, Faith had vouched for Willow’s effectiveness so he wasn’t about to debate the matter. If anything, he was eager to begin. “Let’s do this now then,” Sam urged, picking up one of the shotguns and handing it to her, while stuffing the pockets of his jacket with as much ammunition as he could carry.

“You sure we’re going to need all this?” Faith asked, holding the gun in her hand with a look of distaste. Like B, she was used to fighting with less dangerous weapons and was uncomfortable with holding the shotgun.

"Yeah I'm sure," he checked the gun tucked in the back of his jeans and made sure he had the shells for inside his coat pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that they needed all this ordinance. Scheckly had painted a suitably ugly picture of horror when describing the Razor Realm and Sam wasn't stepping into that world without being prepared to face it. "Scheckly said that the Razor Realm collects people's nightmares, that even brief contact with the cube could bring them out. The Razor Realm is where they're all kept so I'm guessing we're going to see some real nasty and personal stuff when we go in."

Faith shuddered inwardly, thinking that she had no desire to see the Mayor again, even there was a part of him that loved the man still. Even if he was a Big Bad, Faith believed he cared for her. Buffy had revealed she used his love of Faith to put him down so that much of it was confirmed. Still, he was a remnant of a past Faith wanted to forget and prayed that he wasn't conjured up in the Razor Realm. 

"Let's just do this." She grumbled. 

Sam saw the brief shadow that invaded her normally relaxed features and suspected that something he had said about personal demons had struck a chord with her. Faith didn't trust people easily, he got that. Despite her flirting, he guessed she was like Dean in that way, the flippancy and cockiness was a facade for the hurts concealed beneath the surface. It was hard for her to open up and Sam had no desire to intrude on her boundaries even if she appeared afraid right now. 

"Hey," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "I have your back where we're going. I _promise_."

Faith's eyes touched Sam's and once again, she saw that decency radiating from his eyes. There was no expectation in his eyes except the desire to help and knowing that filled with emotion, no ulterior motive like getting laid. It was so much like Angel used to look at her that it hurt. "You're a good guy Sammy," she punched his shoulder lightly. 

"I try," Sam replied and did not add that sometimes, he failed. "You okay?" He asked gently. 

"Yeah," she nodded, "just having a flashback to not so good times." 

"I can relate," Sam confessed. "Okay, let's get started." He said aware that she probably didnt do moments and the best thing to do was to get on with it. 

"Right," Faith nodded and shifted her gaze to the faux book/box sitting on the coffee table. 

Sam reached for the box and took a few steps back so that he was standing in the centre of the room. Faith joined him, standing beside Sam as he flipped open the lid and reached for the gleaming object inside. 

"I'm not sure how this works so hang on to me," Sam advised as he held it in his hand. He knew that he wouldn't start seeing things immediatly. It had taken awhile for Lucifer to show up so he assumed the thing needed time to manifest a person's darkest fears. Sam hoped that they'd rescue Buffy and Dean before that happened. In any case, he sure as hell wasn't letting Faith handle the object if it could be avoided.

Faith wrapped her arm around his and leaned in close, "okay my knight in shinning armour, whisk me to wherever," she joked. 

Sam chuckled softly but then remembered what they had to do and stared at the gleaming cube. As he stared at it, he thought he might have seen the exotic designs on its surface, swirling into new patterns. Had it done that before? Sam was certain it didn't but supposed it meant nothing in the scheme of things, not when they were about to plunge into its secrets. 

Using the words he'd memerized from Scheckly's security tape, Sam began reciting; “ _Karahnia Stahs ohla varayna discara unas celea mokturna._ ”

Suddenly, although not to Sam's surprise because he'd seen what happened on the tape, the cube began to radiate bright white light from the swirling designs across its surface. However, instead of letting it go as Dean had done, Sam tightened his grip. The radiating light did not generate heat because it was still cool to the touch in Sam's palm. Sam didn't look away, forcing him to keep his eyes focussed on the thing as it performed its magic.

The floor beneath them started to shudder and Faith clutched Sam's arm tighter to steady herself. Picture frames shook against the floor, a vase tipped over spilling stinking water and almost dead flowers onto the carpet. Faith was about to demand if this was what was supposed to happen when the confidence in Sam's face, belayed the question and she settled her own anxiousness because he was clearly expecting all this.

The cube opened in his palm and the grotesque figure at its centre began to dance as it had for Buffy and him a day ago. Except this time, there was music to accompany the performance. Everything was happening as it had taken place in the video and Sam had a rough idea of what came next when he saw the figure start to twirl, the spins growing faster and faster. 

"Hold on tight!" Sam warned as the strobe light pouring out of the cube expanded to envelope them both.

Faith obeyed and closed her eyes just as the blinding white light reached them. It overloaded her retinas and she had to shut her eyes as the shuddering beneath her feet reached crescendo and then suddenly, the light faded into an abyss of black and she knew no more.


	18. Chapter 18

They couldn't stay watching the horizon for long, not when faced with the reality that fear lived here and it would find them eventually. They were its meat; the soft flesh to be gnawed between its teeth to keep them sharp. Dean imagined that he and Buffy were little more than unexpected gristle but like everything that was to be devoured, they too would eventually break down. He hoped to hell that Sammy was doing everything he could to get them out of here because he didn't know how much longer they could stay ahead of the monsters in this place.

Descending from the wall, neither spoke but the air was heavy with sinister foreboding. Maybe it was understanding what this place was that made it worse, made it seem so much more hopeless. Whatever the reason; they were both on their guard as they walked down the corridor that had no end, trying to hide their despair from each other. Dean was clinging steadfastly to the belief that Sam would get them out of here because Buffy _needed_ to believe it. He could see in her eyes, the fear that in the end, this place would defeat them. It was built to win and even if you could stay alive for a long time, it wasn't the kind of living you wanted. If Sam couldn't get them out, then perhaps dying wasn't the worst thing that could happen to them.

"I've been thinking," Dean spoke, breaking the silence because it was starting to drive him a little crazy especially when they were waiting for the next horrible thing to jump out at them, “Maybe we can do the long distance thing." 

Of all the things she had expected him to say; this was not it. 

Buffy shot him a look of surprise, her eyes widening slightly because this was not the place she expected to have this conversation and more astonishingly, he was not the one she figured would initiate it. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean said defensively catching the look she was giving him, “I mean we might as well talk about it right?” 

Suppressing the urge to smile, Buffy swore she could see him turning red. However, their situation made her question his motives and she asked suspiciously, “You're not doing this because you think we're going to die in here and you won't have to make good on any promises made _right?_ " 

"No!" Dean declared automatically and then paused to consider if that was _exactly_ what was going on in his head when he rebounded, "No goddamn it!" He exclaimed with a hint of indignation because for once, he only had the purest intentions in mind. What did she take him for? Okay may be he might have done that in the past one or twice, taken the easy route to speed out of situations or a bedroom for that matter but this was different. 

"Okay! Okay!" she declared, throwing her hand up in apology for questioning his motives. "So _you_ want to do the long distance thing?"

Dean shrugged and started talking again, not meeting her gaze as they continued walking. "Well me and Sam are mostly based in Lebanon these days," he explained, trying to sound casual about this even though there were big neon letters flashing 'BIG RELATIONSHIP TALK' in his head. This wasn’t something he was at all comfortable doing and on the one occasion he had the experience, it was Lisa who had made the overture even if it had proved ultimately untenable. "It’s about three hours from Lawrence. I mean I can do those miles in my sleep or we could meet half way, or I could come and hang out between jobs..." he suggested before clearing his throat, trying not to sound like some sensitive new age pussy who couldn't make a decision on anything important. 

Buffy was smiling, despite the mess they were in, despite the possibility they may never get out of this place, she was smiling at him. Watching Dean stumbling over his words, trying to maintain his veneer of cool while talking about their relationship beyond the present moment was almost precious. "Or I could drive up," she offered instead. "Maybe even join you on a job sometime. Not all the time of course but once in a while." She looked at him coyly from under long lashes. "You gotta admit, you could use me a in a tight spot."

“Darlin, you got lots of tight spots I can use,” he grinned, unable to keep himself from taking the easy route to innuendo she’d given him. 

For his trouble, she swatted him over his arm. “Dork!” She cursed and then fell suddenly silent. Her spine straightened and she was reaching for the blade across her back. 

Dean had only to look at expression, hardening like granite to guess that the next wave of monster was about to come their way. 

“What is it?” He asked her, reaching over his shoulder like she had. The gun he was carrying was out of bullets after killing the giant snake and was now useless to them. 

“Listen,” she ordered, her eyes narrowing in concentration. 

Dean obeyed, opening his ears to the sound of everything. It took him a second to detect what she had. 

The sound was still soft because it was distant but what he could make of it was sharp. Like someone was stabbing at the marble floor with the point of a knife, multiplied a dozen times over. Whatever was coming at them was not alone. The approach he could hear bearing down on them told him that much. Suddenly, Dean was filled with a heightened sense of alarm, even more so than when the demon snake had first come at them. His fight or flight instincts were tugging at the edge of his consciousness, trying to goad him into making the sensible decision for once. 

“Come on!” He motioned her to follow, the ghost of a plan forming in his brain, “we need to take this to higher ground.” 

“Higher ground?” She exclaimed before she caught onto to what he intended. Dean was retreating the way they had come and she followed him, breaking into a run to keep up, she knew where he was going. The only high ground available to them was the section of wall ruined by the Olvikan demon. The debris from that collapsed section allowed them to get to the top and gave them the view of the landscape. Right now however, it would give them a slight advantage over multiple attackers. 

*****

“Sam,” Faith nudged the younger Winchester brother who was lying face down against the dark, marble floor. “Come on Winchester, on your feet. Got to go rescue big brother and Queen B.”

Faith had come to first and was able to shake off the disorientation from their journey through the portal much faster than Sam. The bright light had overloaded all her sensory receptors, causing her to black out long enough for them to be transported to this place. When she regained consciousness, she found Sam and had to admit that having never been teleported before, Willow’s description of the experience of being snatched up by a hurricane, tracking with what they’d just gone through. 

She could feel the lingering charge of the energy from the portal still cackling through the air. It reminded her of a blown fuse or the fumes exuding from an electrical fire. They didn’t have much time to use its power to perform the locator spell and the realisation prompted Faith into action. However, first things first, she needed to get Sam Winchester on his feet. He had landed face down but unlike her, had not gotten up again and she felt a surge of panic at the thought that he might have gotten himself hurt on the way through. 

“Sammy!” She knelt own and shook him. She saw that the cube was still clenched tightly in his fist, along with all the other crap he’d brought with him. _Men and their guns,_ she mused. 

It took a couple of shakes before Sam jerked back to consciousness with a sudden start. Lifting his head which felt a lot heavier than it should, he turned his head left, right and then raised his eyes to look at Faith, unaware that was a smear of blood running down his nose. “I’m up…I’m up,” he replied slowly lumbering to his feet. 

Not for the first time, Faith noticed the state of him. She hadn’t missed the fact that for a guy his height and size, he’d looked frail. The circles under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks indicated that he was less than a hundred percent but until she saw the blood, Faith had not realised just how bad he was. He’d saved her life when they were fighting Scheckly, Faith thought, he’d done it while he was in this shape? Knowing that made her angry that she hadn’t been the one protecting him. She was the Slayer after all and he was the normal human. 

Still, after working with him, Faith had to admit there was little about Sam that was ordinary. 

“We gotta do this spell before the juice disappears,” she reminded him, her voice somewhat sedate as she tried to hide her concern and maintain her flippant persona. “You up for it or do you need me to?”

“I can do it,” Sam assured her, shaking off the last of the fugue caused by the teleportation. Reaching for the phone that Faith handed to him, he reread the instructions in Willow Rosenberg’s text message. 

“You good to go?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m not sure about the language but your Willow translated the words phonetically so I should be able to say the chant. According to this we needed fragments from the crushed rock of Baba Yaga’s pestle. An old friend of ours used to collect all kind of mystic stuff so I actually found this in the trunk of the car. It’s not a tough spell to do.” He explained before producing a small baggie from inside his coat. The plastic bag contained a fine, grey powder. “Just make sure you hold my hand,” he said, “don’t want to leave you behind.” He added with an almost embarrassed smile. 

Faith shook her head, trying not to laugh as she wrapped an arm around his waist. “Okay Sammy, take me on this hayride.” 

Sam gave her another shy glance before he emptied the contents of the plastic bag into his palm, careful not to spill any before taking a deep breath. Exhaling it as hard as he could, he blew the powder from his palm, dispersing it into the air in a thick cloud that rapidly began to thin, before he started reciting the spell. 

_“Shuunati Fuug Ghallgah der Shtuul, Shuunati Fuug Ghallgah der Shtuul. Shuunati Fuug Ghallgah der Shtuul.”_

Sam chanted the phrase over and over again but started to see results almost immediately after he’d completed the second attempt. The residual energy of their teleportation into this place began to react to the mystical powder Sam had introduced into the air. He could see the tiny embers coming alive, like fireflies swarming in the dark. It was almost beautiful as they drifted aimlessly at first. However as he continued to chant, the momentum of the glittering mist became more pronounced and directed, swirling in place in front of them. 

“I think it’s working,” Faith declared, her dark eyes wide with wonder, “Now we need something of your brother’s right?” 

Faith supposed she could have lifted something from Buffy’s place before they set the spell into motion but Sam claimed he had it covered. He didn’t answer her but dug his hand into the pocket of his coat to pull out something that was dangling from his hand. It was a small gold pendant hanging off a piece of chord. 

“What is that?” Faith asked curious. The pendant was a little strange looking thing, a brass face with horns pointing upwards. 

“It’s Dean’s,” Sam said quietly, not wanting to explain how he’d retrieved it from the bin when Dean tossed it out three years ago because he’d been hurt that Dean had discarded it. Of course, Dean had done that because he himself had been hurt by the discovery during their trip to heaven, Sam’s most pleasant memories involved time _away_ from his family. Shame at the unintentional slight had kept Sam from telling Dean that he still had the amulet and maybe, maybe when he finished these trials and proved to his brother that he could be counted on, Sam might try giving it back to Dean. 

For now, he needed it for the final part of the spell. 

The embers had now swirled into a large vortex that Sam and Faith found themselves staring into. It faced them like the open maw of energy conduit. Sam glanced at Faith and flung the amulet into the opening. It disappeared into the shifting whorls of mystic power with a spike of blue energy. Once it vanished, Sam saw a growing dark centre that expanded wide enough for them to enter. The bigger it got, the more recognisable it became. Sam caught sight of another corridor, much like this one waiting for them to cross into it.

“This is it!” Sam exclaimed and ran forward, Faith’s arm around his as he jumped into its open mouth.

******

Taking the high ground was a temporary measure at best. 

There were so many of them that Dean couldn’t count them all and from what Buffy told him, even one could kill them both easily. They were swarming at the base of the wall and judging by the way they moved, Dean suspected that they weren’t going to have any trouble climbing up marble to reach their prey. Buffy called these things demons but to Dean, they were monsters, pure and simple. When this was over, assuming they survived the next ten minutes, he’d have to pick her brain on how many different types of supposed demons she’d fought as the slayer. 

“I don’t know about you,” Buffy remarked assuming a defensive position, the long blade held tightly in her hands as she watched the creatures approaching the dead Olvikan demon that lay across the partially crumbled wall. “But I’m thinking our safest bet is to keep them from getting to the top of the wall.” 

“I’m with you on that,” Dean agreed, “gonna be a bitch with just these weapons though.” 

“You’re just missing your guns,” she retorted as she saw the first of them climb up the wall, followed by another and then another. “Here they come,” she said not looking at him.

“You want a pep talk or are we good to go?” He joked, trying to make light of a situation that had none at all. He watched them scurry over the dead snake demon, a tide of dark green bodies with too many legs, covering its large bulk. 

“We’re good,” Buffy answered tonelessly and didn’t comment that they were both remarkably calm considering what they were facing. “Remember, they got a second set of jaws on their bellies.” 

“Nice,” Dean retorted, “what are they called again?” 

Buffy didn’t meet his gaze as she answered, “Grimslaw demons.” 

They were sharing a sense of calm that was in itself morbid when they should have been alarmed. Buffy saw the same thing he did, a swarm of grimslaw demons all hungry for their hearts and more than ready to tear it right out of their chests. Buffy knew Dean would die fighting. It was no more in his nature to surrender than it was in hers but the odds arrayed against them were overwhelming. She suspected that he might have resigned himself to the reality that while they’d put up a good fight, this was the one fight they wouldn’t walk away from. 

She didn’t tell him she thought he was right. 

The first grimslaw that scaled the wall was met by Dean. Maintaining his balance as they stood atop the narrow width of the wall, Dean took two steps to his side and drop down long enough to plunge his blade through the grimslaw’s open mandible. Dark blood spurted out of the wound as the creature let out an agonized screech that seemed to provoke the others into lunging against the wall and scaling its length. 

Buffy ran forward, swinging her blade and sending one of the creatures off the wall, flicking it away like she was wielding a giant fly swatter instead of a sword like weapon. It fell away from the wall, landing on its back on top of another creature. Their dark coloured carapace crunched like fortune cookies and Buffy immediately winced at the comparison. She’d never be able to eat Chinese again. 

“Watch out!” He shouted a warning before turning back to deal with another attempt by one of the creatures to kill him. 

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw two more of the grimslaws climbing over the edge near her. She ran forward, careful not to fall over because that would be the last fall of her life and kicked one of the beasts hard enough to dislodge it from the wall. She looked up just in time to see the other one pounce and Buffy swung the blade in a wide arc, severing it in mid torso. Half the remains landed on the edge while the other half tumbled over the side. Wincing at the grisly sight, she had just enough time to shove the dead carcass over the edge before she saw another of the creatures emerging to her left. Buffy swung around, catching a glimpse of Dean who was shoving the grimslaw he’d just decapitated off the wall. 

The creatures were continuing to swarm, he didn’t know how many he’d killed but he also knew that there were more of them. Buffy was holding up her end of the fight and once again, he marvelled at her speed and agility, even when fighting creepy sons of bitches like these. However, Dean was a realist. Even she wasn’t inexhaustible and he was pushing himself to all limits to keep up with her, to not let these critters get the better of him. He’d gotten used to fighting without guns while in Purgatory but he honestly didn’t know how much longer the two of them could continue battling these creatures or something even worse, if they survived this. 

“DEAN!” Dean heard Buffy scream and turned around to see a grimslaw leap at him, like one of those jumping spiders in that movie with the giant tarantula terrorising people at the mall. 

It landed on him, its spindly legs immediately latching onto his back. Dean stumbled backward, almost toppling over because the creature had landed on him with so much momentum behind it. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, trying to shove the thing off, barely avoiding its snapping mandibles. Suddenly, white hot pain lanced through him as he felt something take a bite out of his side. The pain overloaded his senses, took him by surprise and forced a guttural cry out of his mouth. He had just enough time to register that the grimslaw’s second set of mandibles had bitten him before he was driving his blade through its thorax and shoving the creature off him. 

“DEAN!” Buffy cried out again, her expression was one of pure panic as Dean was driven to his knees, the pain coursing through him so blinding he had trouble focussing his thoughts for a second. _Fuck that hurt_ , he cursed silently to himself. 

She started to take a step towards him when he halted her with one hand, “STOP!” He barked. “I’m fine,” he lied even though the wound he was clutching beneath his ribs was pulsing blood over his fingers. 

Dean could already see another grimslaw behind her, crawling over the wall, just as he could see one in front of him. They couldn’t afford to stop, they had to keep fighting. Dean knew of no other way to proceed. Clamping his eyes shut for a second, he fought off the urge to puke and tried to ignore his body’s demand to cease any strenuous activity. Dean forced himself to regain his composure and opened his eyes to see the grimslaw skittering towards him. He swung his blade out, his instincts switching from flight to fight mode and he grit his teeth against the pain to split its skull apart. Forcing himself upright, he brought the weapon down on the grimslaw’s back as it flattened against the floor, mortally wounded. 

Buffy was continuing to fight, landing both feet on a grimslaw’s back and forcing its spindling legs to jerk as she stabbed it through the thorax. She looked up to see Dean getting back on his feet, watching his normally upright posture hunch as he struggled against the pain. The wound was bad, she could tell by how he was moving. Even worse than when the razor armed girl had slashed at him. 

_He’s normal,_ she kept telling herself, _he can’t take much more of this._

She saw him fend off another grimslaw and turned back to the one approaching her. Throwing a powerful front kick, she flung it off the wall, the creature flying off with its legs flailing in outrage. Running forward, she hardly paused when she swung at a grimslaw in her way, wielding her blade like a golf club and tossing it off the wall. Buffy needed to get to Dean, needed to get him away from her or come up with a different plan because staying to fight was no longer an option. 

Dean was starting to get woozy. The bleeding wasn’t stopping and he could feel the slick damp against his clothes. Worse than that, the thick scent of fresh blood was whipping the other grimslaws into a frenzy because they seemed to be coming at Buffy and him even faster than before. Or perhaps it seemed that way because he was slowing down in his response time. Another stab, kick and shove and he was driving another monster away, until it felt like he was in constant motion, with no rest in sight. The more he moved, the faster his heart pumped and the more blood he was losing. 

It wouldn’t be long now. He was losing too much blood to stay on his feet and then it would be over. 

“We’ve got to run!” Buffy declared reaching him, slashing at another grimslaw. “We’ve got to get out of here.” 

“No,” he said and thrust the point of blade into a pouncing grimslaw. The creature was impaled on the length of the weapon and Dean had to shake it off like some trash he’d picked up. “You need to make a run for it. I’ll hold them off.” 

Buffy stopped short and stared at him, uncomprehending at first. When what he was asking her settled over her brain, her expression turned pale. “NO!” She exclaimed aghast. “I am _not_ leaving you!” 

“Counsellor,” he grabbed her arm so that she’d understand that this wasn’t some macho attempt at posturing. “You need to go! I’m not going to last much longer and if you try to keep me alive, you’ll die too. Sammy is coming! He’ll find you and get out of here but you need to leave, right now!” 

“I AM NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU!” She practically screamed at him and a grimslaw that chose to lunge at that point bore the brunt of her fury. “I can’t leave you!” She almost wailed, her heart close to breaking. She’d made that choice once before with Angel and it had almost destroyed her, she couldn’t go through that again. Not twice in one lifetime. 

Her pain at the suggestion was so profound that it hurt as much the wound on his side but Dean couldn’t give in to her demand. He _loved_ her, he knew that now and he couldn’t let her die here. Not when there was a chance for her to live, not when it was stopping her from doing what needed to be done. “Buffy, I’m not going to make it! I can’t keep this up and I’m going to slow you down if we try to make a break for it. So you need to go and I’ll hold them back. I don’t want you to die here because of me!” 

“I CAN’T!” She burst out, her face contorted in anguish and exasperation. “I won’t leave you behind!”

She grabbed his hand and ran a few steps along the wall, away from the current cluster of grimslaws even though it would give them a pause of seconds only. 

“We can make it!” Buffy insisted, catching his face in her hands and was about to say something else when she looked into his eyes and saw the pain there, the pain that was not because he was afraid to die but because he was afraid to leave her this way. 

Dean blinked, seeing the grimslaws over her shoulder, skittering quickly towards them. “You’re a pain in the ass and you drive me crazy with your pink Barbie crap and Hello Kitty socks but I don’t want you to die, I want you to live, I want you hunt down monsters and kick demon asses like you were meant to do, I want you to do that because I _love_ you and it would be worse, if I die knowing I couldn’t save you.” 

Buffy let out strangled cry that was fast becoming a sob when she saw Dean’s eyes widen over her shoulder. Turning around, she saw that the grimslaws had caught up to them. They were inching closer and closer, dark bodies along the top of the wall, prepared to run them down or off, whichever came first. 

“Get behind me,” Dean ordered preparing to hold them off. “When I say run, you run!” 

Buffy was about to protest but somehow he’d moved with surprising speed for someone in his condition. “Dean!” She shouted but it was too late, he was already standing between her and the approaching grimslaws. 

He knew at some point, she’d realise it was too late for him and get moving. Maybe she needed to see him die, maybe that would make her understand. “Come on you bastards,” he said waving the blade in front of him to see which one of the sons of bitches would make a run at him. “Come on!” 

One of the grimslaws edged out ahead of the others, its legs bowing in preparation to jump. It sprung into the air with a screech, mandibles widening when suddenly something loud and thunderous shattered its cry with a powerful roar and tore the grimslaw apart. Its body exploded, splattering dark blood across the floor. 

Dean recognised the sound immediately, it was a shotgun blast. 

Reinforcing that thought was another explosion of noise as a second shot was fired, one after the other. The grimslaws reacted immediately, the sound scattering them as they cleared the wall in momentary surprise. 

“DEAN!” He heard Sam’s voice calling him from the other side of the wall. 

Dean turned to see Sam standing next to a girl he didn’t recognise. The chick was fighting off grimslaws while Sam was taking a more satisfying approach. They were standing next to the dead snake demon, trying to get to Buffy and him. Dean had never thought he’d ever be more relieved to see his brother and closed his eyes to let out of sigh of relief at the salvation that had come for them just in time.

“Cover us!” Buffy shouted at Sam over his shoulder. “We’re coming to you!” 

Buffy grabbed Dean, put his arm over her shoulder and started running, ignoring his protestations as Sam’s fired at anything that got in their way. The second front created by Faith and Sam had given them some space to move and they were soon running the debris pile that would lead to the ground. However, before she reached the edge, Buffy jumped, using her slayer strength to take him with her as she launched herself off the edge to land on top of the Olvikan demon. 

“I can still walk!” He grumbled as they landed on the turgid flesh of the slowly ripening monster. 

“Shut it Winchester!” She ordered, letting him go only when a she could deal with the grimslaw lunging at them. She swung the blade wildly and cut the thing in half. 

Dean took the opportunity to break free so that he could help. Now that Sam was here and there was an end in sight, his survival instincts returned with a vengeance and though he knew he couldn’t keep it up for long, he could help her get to Sam. 

“Take that you son of a bitch!” Dean brought his boot down on the grimslaw that skittered towards him. Holding it down with his weight, he stabbed it through the back just as another shotgun blast was heard nearby. Another grimslaw exploded, blood and entrails rupturing from broken flesh. 

“Come on!” Buffy exclaimed, tugging him along as they descended the snake demon’s scaly hide. She heard Dean curse as they lost their footing, sliding the rest of the way to the ground and landing on their asses. Buffy even managed to land a kick on a grimslaw during their trip down, causing the critter to tumble unceremoniously aside in a tangle of spindly limbs. Buffy jumped a little when she was startled by another shotgun blast that splattered a grimslaw to smithereens.

As soon as Sam had called out to Dean and saw his brother and Buffy coming towards them, Faith had rushed into engage the grimslaw demons. She’d never encountered the critters herself but she’d knew how damn lethal they were. Judging by the red smear on big brother’s shirt, Faith judged that she and Sam had arrived just in time. With Sam blasting away at the creatures swarming around Buffy and Dean, Faith’s attack also drew more of the swarm away from the duo. She was more than adept at cutting a swathe through the critters with the long bladed knife she was carrying. 

Another shotgun blast cleared the space between the two sets of hunters and slayers enough for them to finally meet up. 

“B!” Faith called out to the blond slayer while she hacked away the grimslaw in her path. 

“Faith!” Buffy exclaimed in shock to see the dark hair slayer who had become friend and ally in recent years. It had only taken nine years for them to reach this place in their relationship where Buffy was relieved to see Faith aiding in her rescue. “What are you doing here?” 

“G-Man was a little worried about you and your new boyfriend,” Faith winked as she glanced in the direction of the older Winchester. “Asked me to check on you in case your new hottie was evil.” 

“Oh he did _not!_ ” Buffy’s jaw dropped open in outrage but had little time to comment when she saw Sam running towards his brother. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted, tossing his brother the other shotgun he’d brought with him. 

“Thank Christ!” Dean exclaimed, catching the weapon with one hand and risked taking his other hand off his oozing wound to catch the box of shells Sam shoved his way when he was close enough. This time, when the pain surged through him, Dean didn’t feel weakened, he just felt _pissed_. Riding that oh so sweet rage, he loaded the weapon and growled, “Oh you sons of bitches are so going to get paid!” With that, he aimed and fired at the grimslaws behind them, scattering the ugly critters for the moment. 

“Come on!” Sam exclaimed, “I know the spell to get us out of here! Let’s go!” 

“Give me your gun Sam!” Faith interjected running up to him. “You need to do the spell! You can’t shoot and do that at the same time.” 

“I thought you didn’t know how to use a gun!” Sam said hesitant to give the weapon to someone who wasn’t schooled in using one, even if she was right about him needing to concentrate on the spell to get them out of here. 

“I said I didn’t like using them, didn’t say I didn't know how!” Faith declared. “Give it up!” 

Sam saw Dean and Buffy trying to keep the grimslaws back and realised he didn’t have a choice. “Here.” He handed her the gun and ammunition. “Don’t shoot anything off.” 

“Oh Sammy,” Faith laughed as she pocketed the ammunition and then cocked the shotgun with a forceful one handed pump before blasting away at one of the monsters.

That was so damn sexy, he was at a loss for words until he heard Dean barking at him. “Sammy close your mouth and work the spell!” 

“Right,” he shook his head. “Buffy come on!” Sam urged the slayer to keep up with him. 

Buffy was reluctant to leave Dean but he seemed to have caught a second wind as he and Faith lay waste to the grimslaws with gunfire and decided that covering Sam while he performed his spell might be the most prudent thing to do. 

“Alright, alright!” Buffy conceded reluctantly. “Faith….” She tossed a brief glance at Faith. 

“Don’t worry B,” Faith assured her getting what the look meant, “gotta make sure Big Brother is safe for Sammy.” 

Buffy glanced at Sam and thought she might have seen the younger Winchester blush. For her part, she was more interested in Faith ensuring that Dean didn’t go kamikaze like he wanted to earlier. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d been willing to die for her to be safe and she didn’t want him falling prey to that logic now that they were so close to escape.

“Get us out of here Sam!” She declared as she joined him, leaving behind the dead Olvikan and hordes of grimslaw demons. 

Sam had already retrieved the cube from his pocket and was hoping to put more space between them and the grimslaws before attempting to open the portal again. However, he saw that even though Dean and Faith were keeping the creatures at bay, the truth was, Sam hadn’t brought an inexhaustible supply of ammunition and eventually, the shotguns would become useless. There was no time to do this safe, it had to be done right now. They’d deal with the consequences on the other side. 

Holding out the cube in his hand, Sam started reciting, _“Karahnia Stahs ohla varayna discara unas celea mokturna…Karahnia Stahs ohla varayna discara unas celea mokturna!”_

Once again, the same light poured out of the cube’s ornate design, the cryptic mechanism unlocking to reveal the figure inside. The same white brilliance illuminated the darkened realm like a mini sun, forcing Sam to look away. Beneath his feet, he could feel the seismic tremors that felt like mini quakes under the cold marble floor. The shuddering effect of the tremors travelled along the floor because when Sam stopped running to let Dean and Faith catch up, he could see the grimslaws had stopped following them. The quakes had unsettled the creatures enough for the swarm to halt its advance and then begin a hasty retreat. 

Instead of holding on to the cube like he had before, Sam let it drop to the floor. Once again its impact shuddered through his bones like he’d dropped a safe onto a concrete floor from ten storeys up. 

“Hang on!” Sam ordered and extended his hand towards Faith. More bright light continued to pour out of the cube corresponding with the tremors growing more violent. As soon as Faith was in reach, Sam pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her waist as if holding her close was to only way to ensure that she went with him when the portal opened. It wasn’t but the action seemed so natural to both of them that Sam didn’t question it. 

Dean had lowered the gun, grateful to be able to stop shooting because what scant reserves he had used to get to this point was almost gone. The pain had come back in full force, slamming into him like he’d run straight into a brick wall. The shotgun wavered in his grip and though the grimslaws were no longer in pursuit, Dean was reluctant to let it go. Unfortunately, maintaining his grip on the weapon was no longer an option as his hand clutched his side again and he felt more blood pulsing out of his torn flesh. Dean was having trouble keeping steady and thought his legs might give out. 

Drawn to the light like a moth to the flame, Dean staggered forward and almost fell when he felt Buffy’s arm coiling around his body. 

“It’s okay, I got you.” She said looking up at him. 

“Yeah you do Counsellor,” he nodded meeting her gaze with warm affection. “You damn well do.” 

Dean was still mesmerized by that smile of hers, the one that hit him like a bullet to the brain and the proverbial arrow to the heart when the cube’s radiating energy exploded and enveloped them all.


	19. Chapter 19

_TWO DAYS LATER...._

"Hey B, I know it’s cute but you know you can't keep it forever right?" Faith smirked at Buffy while she leaned against the kitchen counter watching the Chosen One making breakfast for the wounded hunter who was currently watching episodes of Doctor Sexy, MD on her sofa.

"Oh you're funny," Buffy made a face at the brunette slayer as she put the finishing touches on the meal she'd prepared for Dean. While it wasn't quite as gross as getting fresh blood for Angel, Buffy wasn't sure that cooking bacon and eggs, with toast and all the trimmings was any better. Her arteries hardened just looking at the stuff but according to Dean, monster hunting was great for burning calories.

Faith smirked, seeing the slight blush that nevertheless crept into Buffy's cheeks as she carried the tray of food to Dean who was currently convalescing at Casa Summers. After all these years, it appeared Queen B hadn't changed when it came to her relationships with men. When she fell, she fell _hard_. However for once, Faith approved of her choice. Dean Winchester was a cross between Angel and Spike, with just a dash of human Riley thrown in for good measure. While the guy was alpha male in every sense of the word, he'd been prepared to die for her and apparently got a stack whenever he saw Buffy kick ass. 

That could _not_ be a bad thing.

Not to say that Faith didn't have her own warm sentiments towards Sam Winchester. Buffy had told her about the trials Sam had undertaken, the one that would toss all demons back to hell. Faith understood that these demons were nothing like Lorne and Clem. They were seriously bad ass and were the same demons that were referenced in the Bible, thanks to the merging of their two worlds. It was a task that no ordinary human should have to undertake and seeing its toll on him, strengthened Faith's affection for the younger Winchester.

It was just the same stupid, selfless kind of thing that Angel would have done and _had_ at the very end.

"What's happened?" Buffy asked Dean as she set the tray down on the coffee table and sat down next to him.

"I think Dr. Piccolo is pregnant," Dean said quickly, sitting up a little to make room for her even though his eyes were still glued to the set.

"Get out," Buffy exclaimed as she got comfortable and watched the dramatics of Mercy Hospital on the set, "how do you know?"

"She keeps holding her stomach and going to the bathroom," he explained with such seriousness he could have been explaining the details of a job.

"Could be cramps," Faith quipped, having no interest in soap operas of any kind but was rather amused by the two on the sofa. She liked wrestling and monster truck rallies herself.

"Nice," Dean made a face at Faith who was a very different kind of a slayer. Clad in leather, riding a sweet motor bike, she had bad girl written all over her and while Dean might have found her exceedingly hot when he was younger, right now, he was enjoying Sam tripping over himself around her. 

Faith rolled her eyes and turned away, going to grab some juice out of Buffy's fridge. They'd gotten back from Razor Realm two days ago and the first thing they'd done upon their return was to take Dean to the hospital. Unlike Sam's injuries, Dean's were too severe to wait for Caridad to reach him and so they'd admitted him under the guise of an animal attack. Dean had remained there long enough to get patched up and receive a few pints of blood to replace what he'd lost fighting the grimslaws before making a discreet departure from the hospital. They'd snuck him out and brought him back to Buffy's place where he'd recuperating since. 

Sam had dropped Scheckly's cube in the Razor Realm on purpose, aware that once the portal had opened up and they'd crossed into their own world again, they'd have no further the need of the object. Besides, leaving it in its home dimension was the safest way to dispose of the artefact. At least in the Razor Realm, there would be no unsuspecting victims in danger of coming into contact with it and bringing to life their worst nightmares. Better it remained where it was, trapped in that nihilistic world with the rest of its monstrous residents.

Sam came through the front door and stopped short to see Dean and Buffy on the sofa. He raised his gaze at Faith who caught his bemused expression and winked at him as she raised her cup of coffee at him in greeting. Giving her a little smile, Sam turned back to take in the sight of his brother and his girlfriend in this very domestic situation. Since Dean had come here from the hospital, Buffy had insisted on playing nurse to Dean and Sam was certain that Dean was loving every moment of it. Sam had no problem with that because he could live without Dean's bitching when presented with healthy food. Still...bacon and eggs?

"Really?" Sam asked, staring critically at the tray's contents, "No pancakes or pie? I mean shall we get you some ribs or maybe some buffalo wings?"

"Hey I'm hurt," Dean retorted completely unrepentant as he picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, a culinary 'screw you' to his brother. "I need decent food to heal up,” he said chewing.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Buffy, "he shouldn't be eating this stuff," he pointed out.

"But you heard him," Buffy said dropping her head against Dean's shoulder, sending a girlish pout Sam's way, "he's hurt and I can't say no to my guy." She capped the comment with a smile of mischief.

Dean's shit eating grin made Sam give up.

"You two deserve each other," he snorted but the truth was, Sam was happy for his brother. He still felt guilty for messing things up for Dean when he'd built a life with Lisa during that whole year when he was without a soul. With Buffy, Sam had never seen Dean happier and after the last few years, Dean deserved a little bit of comfort. "The Impala's packed and gassed up so I'm going to head out before it gets too late. I'll be back to pick you up in a couple of days."

"You sure you don't mind?" Dean asked, trying not to feel guilty for wanting to hang around here for a bit. He liked the idea of being fussed over by Buffy for the next few days while he recovered from his wounds. If he returned to the bunker Dean was certain that Sam would try to feed him 'healthy' food like tofu and sprouts, or something _way_ worse. 

Sam's determination to observe the five food groups was scarier than a demon.

"No I don't mind," Sam said honestly. "It will be kind of cool to go see this Watcher Council branch in Cleveland."

"Yeah G-Man's all excited to get the lowdown on what went down in Stull Cemetery three years ago," Faith said slipping on her leather coat as she came up alongside Sam.

Buffy had gotten in touch with Giles after they'd returned from the Razor Realm and revealed Sam's theory about what had happened during Glory's attempt to bring down the dimensional walls. Somehow, the barrier between their two dimensions had weakened enough to merge and the result was a world of hunters and slayers, walking the same Earth completely unaware of each other or the change that had taken place. Giles seemed to agree, especially when Sam and Dean were in possession of the true nature of what had taken place in the Stull Cemetery three years ago.

There was still so much missing, so much knowledge that was either absent from the Watcher Council records or the Men of Letters archives. In light of that, Giles had invited Sam to visit the nearest chapter of the Watcher Council located in Cleveland, Ohio. That suited Dean fine since as much as he cared for Buffy, he was not ready to trust this Watcher Council with the location of the bunker at Lebanon. Furthermore, Dean was hoping that Sam could find out if this Watcher Council had some information about the demon tablets.

“Well try not to geek out too much on them,” Dean advised, still mindful of Sam’s condition even if he was the one injured at present. “Remember to rest your coconut before you get info overload.” 

“Don’t sweat it Deano,” Faith replied automatically. “I’ll make sure Sammy here gets his rest.” She winked at Sam with an utterly sinful smirk on her full lips and was delighted when she saw his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously. Too cute. 

“Faith,” Buffy returned sarcastically, “remember it looks cute but you don’t want to break it.” 

Still, despite Faith’s obvious attentions towards Sam, Buffy had a feeling that he knew how to hold off any of Faith’s forward passes if he really wanted to. Besides, she got the sense that Faith’s innuendo was only talk. There was something in the way Faith regarded Sam, when she wasn’t flirting shamelessly, that showed Buffy something deeper was at work here. Of course Buffy could never come out and ask Faith about it. Even with their odd friendship, it was never wise to quiz Faith about her unspoken emotions. The girl just _didn’t_ do sharing. 

“And she gives as well as she gets,” Faith replied good-naturedly, taking no offense at the comment because this was how her relationship with B function best. After the turbulent years between them where they had tried to kill each other, this was the best they could ever hope to be to each other and it was enough. They were too warriors on the battlefield who understood each other better than either would like to admit and that was something worth nurturing. 

“Don’t worry B,” Faith assured her with typical mischief, “Anything I break I can put back together with crazy glue.” 

“Well this doesn’t feel awkward at all,” Sam retorted, uncertain how he felt being objectified like this. Of course, it was also kind of flattering from a girl who could break him in half if she got in her mind to get surly. 

Dean laughed, enjoying the shade of red that Sam was turning, especially after all the shit that his baby brother had given him about Buffy earlier on. As he eased back into the sofa, his girl at his side, bacon within easy reach and Dr. Sexy on the TV, he took in the sight of his brother’s attempt to deal with the sexually charged slayer and allowed himself one satisfied thought. 

Revenge was _awesome_.


End file.
